'Read 


In  the  Alamo 


In  the  Alamo 


BY  OPIE  READ 


AUTHOR  OF 

'AN  ARKANSAS  PLANTER,"  "JUDGE  ELBRIDGE,' 
'WATERS  OF  CANEY  FORK,"  "YANKEE  FROM 
THE  WEST,"  "  BOLANYO,"  ETC. 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK: 
RAND,  McNALLY  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. 


Copyright,  1900,  by  Rand,  McNally  &  Co. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    CANDIDATE. 

I  was  born  in  Tennessee,  and  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  was  taken  by  my  parents  to  Texas. 
I  was  bred  to  the  law  and  before  my  parents 
passed  away  I  gave  them  evidence,  let  me 
hope,  that  I  should  succeed  in  a  calling 
which  had  been  selected  for  me  by  my  father's 
ambition  and  my  mother's  pride.  It  is  well 
known  within  the  state,  and  may  not  be 
wholly  forgotten  in  Washington,  that  I  served 
two  terms  in  Congress,  where  I  talked  for  free 
trade  and  stood,  as  firmly  as  possible,  upon 
the  slippery  ground  of  state's  rights.  And  I 
believe,  having  had  many  positive  assurances, 
that  I  could  have  won  my  way  to  a  third  term, 
but  the  lower  house  did  not  satisfy  my  ambi 
tion.  I  had  learned  more  than  one  trick  of 
the  statesman's  trade  and  believed  that  I  might 


M528462 


2  IN    THE   ALAMO. 

wear  the  laurels  of  a  senator.  Being  a  politi 
cian,  I  might  become  a  statesman;  and  it  is 
almost  essential  for  a  man  to  be  the  former 
in  order  ever  to  become  even  a  semblance  of 
the  latter.  Not  every  politician  believes  him 
self  a  statesman,  but  nearly  every  politician 
believes  that  the  public  is  unable  to  distinguish 
the  difference  between  politics  and  statesman 
ship. 

Among  the  tricks  which  I  learned  was  to 
bow  to  pride  and  to  pat  vanity  upon  the  back ; 
and  I  discovered  that  nearly  every  man  who 
takes  an  interest  in  politics  believes  that  he 
can  successfully  manage  a  campaign.  Politi 
cians  have  made  themselves  familiar,  and 
therefore  their  "wisdom"  is  looked  upon  by 
the  ignorant  and  the  fawning  with  a  certain 
degree  of  contempt.  But  we  all  of  us  know 
that  without  the  experience  of  politics  it  would 
be  almost  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  a  prac 
tical  statesman. 

There  was  one  fact  which  arose  in  recollec 
tion  to  condemn  my  aspirations;  my  mistakes 
had  all  of  them  been  small,  when  history 


THE    CANDIDATE.  3 

teaches  that  deep  men  make  grave  mistakes. 
However,  this  was  but  a  far-fetched  condem 
nation,  for  of  course  I  believed  myself  com 
petent  to  face  the  senate,  to  stand,  at  least,  in 
the  presence  of  the  average  senator.  In  the 
house  there  is  more  or  less  of  rawness,  and  in 
the  senate,  a  noticeable  degree  of  pretentious 
dullness.  In  rawness  there  may  be  promise, 
but  dullness  that  pretends  to  be  deep  because 
it  is  slow  and  ponderous,  is  absolutely  hope 
less.  Thus  much  have  I  said  in  excuse  for  my 
candidacy. 

My  announcement  appeared  on  the  twen 
tieth  of  February.  The  choice  was  to  be  made 
by  the  legislature  in  the  winter,  nearly  a  year 
later.  I  desired  to  be  the  first  in  the  field,  and 
I  was — forestalling  Campwell  by  three  days 
and  Apperson  by  nearly  a  week.  Of  course 
these  gentlemen  had  a  right  to  grasp  at  the 
office.  As  a  general  thing,  ambition  in  Amer 
ican  public  life  proves  to  be  harmless.  It  is 
not  for  me  to  say  whether  either  of  these  gen 
tlemen  was  fitted  for  the  place.  But  I  know 
that  I  would  not,  as  Campwell  did  in  his  card, 


4  IN   THE   ALAMO. 

declare  that  I  was  not  only  worthy  but  en 
titled  to  the  honor.  And  then  he  proceeded 
to  define  his  position  on  the  tariff  question, 
as  if  every  one  did  not  know  beforehand.  Why 
will  over-weening  man  mount  the  moss-grown 
platform  of  accepted  fact  and  attempt  to 
thunder?  Is  any  man  so  devoid  of  humor  as 
not  to  know  that  some  truths  are  so  well 
known  to  all  that  we  laugh  at  a  man  for  utter 
ing  them?  But  that  was  Campwell's  affair. 
It  was  not  my  duty  to  advise  him. 

Apperson  was  a  different  sort  of  a  man; 
shrewd  to  a  fox-like  degree,  taciturn  at  times ; 
and  again  as  talkative  as  a  horse-trader — a 
hypocrite  always.  I  am  not  intending  this 
for  the  closet;  it  is  for  the  public  eye,  at  some 
time  in  the  future,  and  I  shall  strive  hard  to 
tell  the  truth,  just  as  I  feel  it. 

The  first  newspaper  that  took  editorial 
notice  of  my  out-coming  was  a  fairly  repre 
sentative  sheet,  published  near  the  central  part 
of  the  state,  and  this  is  what  it  said: 

"Ex-Congressman  Lucian  Howardson  has 
come  out  as  a  candidate  for  the  United  States 


THE    CANDIDATE.  5 

senate,  which,  however,  does  not  prove  that 
he  will  be  elected.  He  is  a  man  of  ability  and 
a  fine  politician,  impressive  in  manner,  tall  and 
of  good  size  and  about  thirty-six  years  of  age, 
with  a  clean  face,  broad,  closely-shutting 
mouth  and  a  deep,  engaging  voice.  He  has 
evidently  made  a  close  study  of  our  rural 
friend,  particularly  of  the  old-timer,  whom 
he  endeavors  to  please.  He  speaks  of  a  'tavern' 
instead  of  a  hotel,  and  he  always  says  'my 
countrymen'  instead  of  fellow-citizens.  The 
chances  are  that  he  will  make  a  strong  race, 
being  a  tireless  worker,  but  he  will  find  old 
H.  M.  Apperson  a  difficult  proposition  to  over 
come." 

And  this  was  the  first  newspaper  recogni 
tion  of  the  fact  that  I  was  a  candidate  for  the 
senate.  But  why  should  it  sneer  at  my  way 
of  speaking  of  an  inn  or  a  gathering  of  voters  ? 
Had  those  little  things  any  bearing  upon  my 
fitness  for  the  place?  And  why  should  the 
editor  go  out  of  his  way  to  declare  that  I  had 
a  "difficult  proposition"  in  old  H.M.  Apperson? 
These  are  merely  trifling  inquiries,  but  they 


6  IN   THE   ALAMO. 

show  my  state  of  mind  at  the  beginning  of  my 
candidacy. 

I  had  just  put  the  paper  aside  when  my 
friend  Sam  Hall  came  into  the  office,  where 
I  stood  upon  the  hearth,  back  to  the  fire. 

"Well,  Lucian,  they've  begun  to  shoot." 

"Yes,  with  blank  cartridges." 

"Don't  know  as  to  that,"  said  Sam  Hall. 
He  was  a  blunt  fellow,  a  true  but  not  always 
an  encouraging  friend.  "I  don't  know,"  he 
repeated,  "but  I  thought  I  heard  a  bullet  whiz 
right  there."  He  pointed  to  the  paper  which 
I  had  thrown  upon  the  table. 

"What,  in  his  reference  to  old  Apperson?" 
I  asked. 

He  stood  on  the  hearth  beside  me,  and  out  of 
the  corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  him  shaking  his 
head.  "No,  in  reference  to  what  was  said 
about  'tavern'  and  'my  countrymen.'  It  will 
set  fools  to  watching  you,  and  nearly  every 
thing  you  say,  no  matter  how  straight  from 
the  heart,  will  be  credited  to  demagogy.  Is 
your  heart  much  set  on  the  thing,  Lucian?" 


THE    CANDIDATE.  7 

He  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  our  eyes 
met  in  a  sharp,  sidewise  glance. 

"Yes,  it  is  the  ambition  of  my — my  soul, 
you  might  say.  Defeat  won't  kill  me,  Sam, 
but  I'll  pledge  you  my  word  that  I  would 
rather  die  than  to  be  beaten." 

"You  think  so,"  he  said,  and  then  we  stood 
in  a  silence,  as  to  words,  but  acutely  conscious, 
at  least  I  was  and  he  seemed  to  be,  of  the 
wind  whining  at  the  casement  and  the  drowsy 
muttering  of  the  fire.  He  removed  his  hand 
from  my  shoulder  and  I  started,  so  magnet 
ized  had  we  been,  standing  there  together ;  and 
I  looked  at  him  as  he  turned  to  draw  up  a 
chair.  A  cold  wind,  a  "norther,"  was  sweep 
ing  over  the  community  and  the  whole  town 
was  shivering.  He  sat  down,  thrust  forth  his 
feet  to  the  fire,  crossed  them  and  after  a  time 
repeated :  "You  think  so !" 

"I  feel  it  and  to  feel  is  to  know,  Sam.  You 
may  argue  against  a  conviction,  but  not 
against  a  feeling." 

"But  sometimes  we  think  we  feel  when  we 
don't,"  he  said,  gazing  steadily  into  the  fire. 


8  IN    THE   ALAMO. 

"The  mind  may  set  itself  upon  many  a  thing 
and  recover  from  many  a  disappointment,  but 

the  heart "  A  chunk  fell,  his  gaze  was 

broken;  but  his  fancy  had  received  only  a 
momentary  shock,  for  almost  without  a  pause 
he  continued :  "The  mind  asks  for  its  ambi 
tion  ;  the  heart  begs  for  its  life.  Wait  till  the 
woman  comes,  Lucian." 

"She  did  come/'  I  quickly  replied.  "I  am 
rather  astonished  that  you  should  have  made 
that  remark.  Don't  you  remember  Viola 
Morgan  ?" 

"Very  well — married  Joe  Maghee.  Her 
hair  was  like  shredded  copper  and " 

''You  needn't  paint  her." 

"I  wanted  to  show  you  that  I  remembered 
her." 

"Well,  don't  you  think  my  heart  begged  her 
for  its  life?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "Not  as  mine  begged, 
Lucian.  The  day  after  you  knew  that  she  was 
forever  lost  to  you,  you  were  here  in  your 
office,  drawing  indictments  as  prosecuting  at 
torney;  and  no  one  would  ever  have  known 


THE    CANDIDATE.  9 

the  difference,  while  I — I  gave  up  my  practice, 
went  away,  wandered  up  and  down  the  earth, 
a  vagabond,  with  a  dead  heart.  And  it  is 
dead  yet,  for  never  since  then  have  I  taken  any 
real  interest  in  life.  You  don't  believe  that  a 
woman  could  have  that  much  influence  upon 
you?" 

"No,  I  don't.  I  love  the  romantic,  and 
poetry,  the  beautiful  science  of  words,  but  I 
am  rather  a  modern  product.  And  I  must  go 
out  now  and  fight  in  the  modern  field  of  pol 
itics " 

"In  taverns  with  my  countrymen." 

"Well,  that  may  not  be  so  modern,  but " 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  San  Antonio." 

"Well,  take  care  of  yourself.  No  telling 
what  you  may  bump  up  against  before  you  get 
through  with  this  political  knight  errantry. 
You'll  have  to  fight  many  a  windmill." 

"Yes,  on  the  plain  and  even  in  the  legisla 
ture." 

"By  the  way,  before  you  go.  You  remem 
ber  that  big  Mexican,  Loro  Dalia,  don't  you, 


io  IN   THE   ALAMO. 

the  one  you  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  five 
years?  Well,  he's  out  and  is  slouching  about 
with  a  hang-dog  air,  and  you'd  better  look 
out  for  him.  Well/'  he  added,  getting  up  and 
giving  me  his  hand,  "take  care  of  yourself.  I 
haven't  much  faith  in  the  outcome  of  your 
present  undertaking,  but  my  heart — my  dead 
heart — wishes  you  success." 


CHAPTER  II. 

.      THE  CRADLE  OF  VALOR. 

San  Antonio.  Nowhere  on  the  continent 
of  America  is  there  a  city  so  full  of  a  peculiar 
interest,  so  quaintly  attractive.  On  the  one 
hand  a  relic  of  the  early  determination  of  the 
Church  to  Romanize  the  Indian,  on  the  other 
the  phonograph  whining  the  ephemeral  "coon" 
song  of  today.  Here  an  adobe  house,  with  leg 
end  and  dark-hued  romance  clinging  to  the 
eaves;  there  a  modish  club  wherein  stricken 
millionaires,  lungless  but  full  of  hope,  win  one 
another's  money.  Winding  through  the  city 
is  a  river,  with  many  bridges,  and  a  creek,  a 
Styx,  flowing  blue  between  Mexican  past  and 
Texas  future.  The  Mexican  side  is  the  setting 
for  an  opera  intended  to  be  serious,  but  hu 
morous  in  excess  of  gravity.  At  night  on  the 
plaza,  in  the  blurred  light  of  a  lantern  which, 


12  IN    THE   ALAMO. 

from  a  distance,  looks  like,  a  magnified  firefly, 
sits  the  Chili  queen,  with  persuading  eye  and 
voice  melodious,  making  music  with  the 
mention  of  her  merchandise;  and  near 
her  sits  her  lord,  master,  tyrant,  rolling 
his  cigarette.  From  the  diminutive  houses, 
flush  with  the  sidewalks,  comes  the  tinkle 
of  -Spanish  love  rhythm;  and  naturally 
one  would  expect  the  entire  plaza  to  break 
out  in  preconcerted  chorus;  but  out  there, 
though  they  seem  to  have  dressed  for  it,  they 
are  not  waiting  for  the  festivities  commemo 
rative  of  the  birth  of  the  Duke's  daughter. 
Oveta's  eyes  may  look  opera,  and  in  her  soft 
and  enticing  tones  there  may  be  a  sweetness 
too  delicate  to  be  entrapped  and  put  down  in  the 
prompter's  book,  but  she  wants  to  exchange 
meat,  meal  and  corn  husk  for  money. 

The  sunlight  brings  the  broadening  charm 
of  completer  revelation,  houses  after  the  style 
of  some  Spanish  picture  book;  a  plaza,  not 
marked  off  by  the  calculating  surveyor  but 
shaped  by  grace-loving  chance — and  here  a 
mission  nearly  two  centuries  old — an  altar 


THE  CRADLE  OF  VALOR.         13 

where  the  wild  man  sniffed  a  strange  scent  and 
for  the  first  time  heard  of  a  woman's  son  who 
gave  his  life  for  him.  But  what  is  this,  so  old 
in  the  new  shadow  thrown  by  progress?  It  is 
the  Alamo,  frowning  as  if  in  all  these  years 
its  war-ruffled  countenance  had  not  been 
smoothed.  The  leisure  life,  gathered  from 
many  cities  in  the  east,  sojourns  about  it,  for 
its  door-yard,  another  piece  of  chance  grace, 
is  one  of  the  most  charming  gardens  in  the 
land ;  and  nearby  commerce  has  reared  her  man 
sions.  But  for  him  who  loves  his  country  there 
is  no  science-tended  garden,  no  handsome 
structures — but  only  the  rough  walls  of  the  old 
church,  the  grandest  cradle  that  ever  rocked 
American  valor  to  the  full  maturity  of  im 
mortal  glory.  And  who  of  us  can  muse  upon 
it  without  pride  and  emotion  ?  Fewer  than  two 
hundred  men  fighting  an  army — Travis,  Bowie 
and  old  David  Crockett,  whose  Tennessee  hu 
mor  enlivened  the  dull  hum  of  Congress.  And 
how  grim  that  humor  was  to  Santa  Anna  J*  Ap 
peals  for  assistance  had  been  sent  out;  a  small 
band  of  heroes  had  responded,  but  for  the  most 


14  IN    THE   ALAMO. 

part  the  messengers  had  been  slaughtered,  and 
now  all  was  hopeless.  No,  there  was  a  hope. 
Let  Colonel  Travis  tell  what  it  was:  "Our 
fate  is  sealed.  Within  a  few  hours  we  must 
be  in  eternity.  .  .  In  the  honest  and  sim 
ple  confidence  of  heart  I  have  trans 
mitted  your  promises  of  help  and  my  con 
fident  hope  of  success.  But  the  promised  help 
has  not  come  and  our  hopes  are  not  to  be 
realized.  .  .  Our  friends  were  evidently  not 
informed  of  our  perilous  position  in  time  to 
save  us.  .  .  Then  we  must  die.  .  .  Our 
business  is  not  to  make  a  fruitless  effort 
to  save  our  lives,  but  to  choose  the  manner  of 
our  death.  But  three  modes  are  presented  to 
us;  let  us  choose  that  by  which  we  may  best 
serve  our  country.  Shall  we  surrender  and  be 
shot  without  taking  the  life  of  a  single  enemy? 
Shall  we  try  to  cut  our  way  through  the  Mexi 
can  ranks  and  be  butchered  before  we  can  kill 
more  than  twenty  of  our  adversaries  ?  I  am  op 
posed  to  either  method.  .  .  Let  us  resolve 
to  withstand  our  enemies  to  the  last,  and  each  to 
kill  as  many  of  them  as  possible.  And  when  at 


THE  CRADLE  OF  VALOR.        15 

last  they  shall  storm  our  fortress,  let  us  kill 
them  as  they  come!  Kill  them  as  they  scale 
our  walls !  Kill  them  as  they  leap  within !  Kill 
them  as  they  raise  their  weapons  to  use  them ! 
Kill  them  as  they  kill  our  companions!  And 
continue  to  kill  them  as  long  as  any  of  us  re 
main  alive."*  So  the  man  had  a  hope,  not  that 
he  might  escape  death,  but  that  in  dying  he 
might  kill  as  many  as  possible  of  his  enemies. 
The  bloodiest  death  was  the  one  to  be  chosen. 
This  was  the  truest  of  patriotism,  for  to  kill 
was  to  serve  country.  But  in  this  he  did  not 
enforce  his  authority  as  commander.  He  would 
leave  it  to  individual  decision,  and  drawing  a 
line  upon  the  ground  with  his  sword,  he  told  his 
men  that  he  was  going  to  stay  in  the  fort  even 
if  he  had  to  stay  alone,  that  each  man  might 
do  as  he  choose,  but  that  those  who  should  so 
elect  within  themselves  to  remain  with  him — 
that  such  men  would  please  step  across  the 
sword-drawn  line.  And  a  man  named  Tapley 
Holland  leaped  the  line  and  cried  out  that  he 

*"Origin  and  Fall  of  the  Alamo,"  by  Col.  John  S.  Ford. 


16  IN   THE   ALAMO. 

was  willing  to  die  for  his  country.  Then  every 
man  in  the  line  stepped  forward — no,  all  but 
one,  a  man  named  Rose ;  all  the  sick  who  could 
walk  or  crawl  passed  over,  and  Jim  Bowie, 
down  with  fever,  cried  out:  "Boys,  I  am  not 
able  to  come  to  you,  but  I  wish  some  of  you 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  move  my  cot  over  there." 
Four  companions  sprang  to  his  cot  and  bore  it 
over  the  line,  the  equator  of  courage;  and  at 
last  every  man  had  crossed  save  Rose,  who 
stood  back  deeply  affected,  but  without  the  ex 
alted  courage  to  take  his  place  in  the  death- 
squad  of  heroism.  But  no  one  reproached  him. 
Virtue  may  be  acquired,  and  pride  and  reason 
sometimes  gather  courage,  but  bravery  must 
have  been  born  with  the  blood.  In  kindly  tones 
Bowie  spoke  to  Rose,  who  replied :  "I  am  not 
prepared  to  die,  and  shall  not  do  so  if  I  can 
avoid  it."  And  then  old  Crockett  spoke,  with 
drollery  in  his  voice  and  his  eyes  whimsically 
winking,  we  may  well  imagine :  "Might  as  well 
conclude  to  die  with  us,  old  man;"  just  as  in 
his  Tennessee  home  he  would  have  said  to  a 
neighbor :  "Don't  be  snatched,  old  man — stay 


THE  CRADLE  OF  VALOR,        17 

and  eat  a  bite  with  me."  Rose  climbed  the  wall 
and  escaped,  and  while  we  must  deplore  his 
weakness  yet  we  are  indebted  to  him  for  a  part 
of  the  story  of  the  Alamo. 

The  last  assault  began  at  daylight  and  ended 
at  nine  o'clock.  Then  a  stillness  fell,  so  pro 
found  that  the  drip,  drip  of  heroic  blood  could 
be  heard.  Sergeant  Becerra,  a  Mexican, 
gave  this  account  of  the  scene :  "It  was  a  fear 
ful  sight.  Our  lifeless  soldiers  covered  the 
ground  surrounding  the  Alamo.  They  were 
heaped  inside  the  fortress.  Blood  and  brains 
covered  the  earth  and  the  floor  and  had  spat 
tered  the  walls.  The  ghastly  faces  of  our  com 
rades  met  our  gaze  and  we  removed  them  with 
desperate  hearts.  Our  loss  in  front  of  the  Al 
amo  was  represented  as  two  thousand  killed 
and  more  than  three  hundred  wounded.  The 
killed  were  generally  struck  on  the  head.  The 
wounds  were  in  the  neck  or  shoulder,  seldom 
below  that.  The  firing  of  the  besieged  was 
fearfully  precise.  When  a  Texas  rifle  was 
leveled  on  a  Mexican  he  was  considered  as 

good  as  dead.    All  this  indicated  the  dauntless 
2 


18  IN    THE    ALAMO. 

bravery  and  the  cool  self-possession  of  the  men 
who  were  engaged  in  the  hopeless  conflict  with 
an  enemy  numbering  more  than  twenty  to  one. 
They  inflicted  on  us  a  loss  ten  times  greater 
than  they  sustained.  The  victory  of  the  Alamo 
was  dearly  bought.  Indeed,  the  price  in  the  end 
was  well-nigh  the  ruin  of  Mexico." 

Two  thousand  killed !  Well  had  the  heroes' 
hope  been  realized.  And  what  a  shrine  was 
there  consecrated  to  American  valor!  The 
glory  of  bravery  ought  to  belong  to  brave  men 
everywhere,  but  how  strangely  ignorant  the 
world  is  of  this  battle!  And  even  in  the  edu 
cation  of  the  American  youth,  deserving  stress 
is  not  put  upon  it.  He  is  taught  to  revere  the 
pilgrim  fathers,  whose  bravery  was  largely  fan 
aticism  and  whose  piety  reached  out  to  tie  a 
rope  about  the  Quaker's  neck.  The  fathers 
of  Texas  were  not  sustained  with  the  intolerant 
fever  of  the  ultra  religionists.  Their  achieve 
ments  were' cool  and  deliberate — the  result  of 
pure  nerve. 

My  room  in  the  tavern  looked  out  upon  the 
Alamo,  and  early,  the  first  morning  after  my 


THE   CRADLE   OF    VALOR.        19 

arrival,  I  sat  gazing  upon  it,  with  the  scenes 
of  the  fight  aglow  in  my  mind,  when  a  card  was 
brought  up.  It  bore  the  name  of  John  Quailes, 
reporter,  secretary  of  numerous  societies  and 
general  promoter  of  things  necessary.  And 
when  he  came  in  I  could  have  sworn  that  he 
was  rehearsing  for  a  "cake  walk."  Of  about 
the  medium  height,  thirty,  smooth  of  face,  not 
wanting  in  color,  frocked  in  a  coat  noticeably 
long,  with  low-cut  waistcoat  and  long  tie  tucked 
into  the  opening  of  his  shirt — these  marks, 
bearing  and  dress,  surely  fulfilled  their  mission, 
that  of  demanding  attention.  I  could  not  sup 
press  a  smile,  and  quickly  perceiving  both  the 
smile  and  my  effort,  he  spoke  pleasantly  with 
his  hand  thrust  forth :  "That's  all  right.  Laugh 
if  you  want  to — no  offense."  I  shook  hands 
with  him.  He  placed  his  hat  on  the  table,  took 
off  his  remaining  glove  (the  first  one  having 
been  removed  as  he  was  doing  his  cake  walk 
toward  me),  put  it  and  mate  into  the  hat,  sat 
down,  leaned  forward,  put  his  hand  on  my  arm 
and  said : 


20  I(N    THE   ALAMO. 

"You're  all  right.  Tote  fair  with  me  and  I'll 
tote  fair  with  you.  You  can  be  of  use  to  me. 
As  you  may  know,  or  if  you  don't  you  may 
soon  find  out,  I  am  the  best  newspaper  man  in 
the  State.  I  don't  say  this  to  blow  about  my 
self  but  as  a  matter  for  your  own  information 
and  guidance.  And  whenever  you  have  any 
thing  that's  worth  printing,  give  it  to  me.  Don't 
run  the  risk  of  letting  any  one  spoil  it.  See? 
I  am  the  Secretary  of  the  State  Central  Com 
mittee  and  I  shall  continue  to  be  as  long  as 
they  want  an  efficient  man.  How's  your  out 
look?" 

"Very  good,  I  think." 

"Don't  talk  like  that — it's  too  modest.  In  the 
bustling  affairs  of  this  life  modesty  means  de 
feat.  What  you  want  is  assurance.  Then 
comes  confidence  and  enthusiastic  work.  I've 
looked  over  the  field  and  I  have  decided  that 
I'll  give  my  allegiance  to  you.  This  is  not  a 
contest  to  return  an  old  incumbent,  he  having 
retired  from  public  life,  but  the  selection  of 
a  new  man,  and  as  that  man  you  strike  me 
about  right.  At  the  proper  time,  and  I'll  be  on 


THE  CRADLE  OF  VALOR.      21 

the  spot,  I  may  spring  something  on  our  op 
ponents — something  like  an  indiscreet  letter. 
They  all  write  them  sooner  or  later,  and  when 
you  lay  for  your  opponent's  letters,  you  are 
doing  yourself  a  great  service.  And  this  leads 
me  to  the  fact  that  I  want  you  to  write  a  letter 
for  me — not  one,  however,  that  will  in  the  least 
compromise  you.  Will  you  listen  to  a  very 
brief— affair?" 

I  told  him  that  I  would,  and  with  a  long 
breath  of  satisfaction  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
began : 

"I  fell  deeply  in  love  with  her  and  I  said 
to  myself  that  if  I  didn't  win  her  my  life 
wouldn't  be  worth  a  penny ;  that  my  richly  de 
veloping  mind  would  cease  to — pulsate.  The 
girl  was  willing  enough,  I  discovered  after  an 
association  of  two  weeks,  during  which  our 
relationship  consisted  of  glimpses,  sighs  and  a 
hastily  spoken  word,  now  and  then,  so  keenly 
alert  was  the  mother — oh,  but  the  mother !  She 
was  opposed  and  we  found  ourselves  against  a 
snag,  for  the  girl  is  frightened  to  death  at  the 


22  IN    THE    ALAMO. 

idea  of  marrying  without  her  mother's  consent. 
Senator,  have  you  gathered  a  good  idea  of  the 
situation?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  be  of  any  use 
to  you." 

"Possibly  not,  but  I  do.  I  will  write  the 
girl's  mother  this  sort  of  a  letter.  Now  listen. 
'My  Dear  Madam :  As  you  know,  Lucian 
Howardson  is  soon  to  be  elected  United  States 
Senator  from  this  State.  He  is  an  able,  moral 
and  therefore  highly  influential  man,  and  it 
is  with  pleasure  that  I  herewith  enclose  a  let 
ter  which  lie  has  been  kind  enough  to  write 
concerning  my  character  and  general  fitness 
as  a  husband  for  the  most  charming  young 
woman  alive — your  daughter.'  Now,  all  I  ask 
of  you,  Senator,  is  that  you  write  that  letter. 
What  do  you  say?" 

I  knew  what  to  say  but  I  did  not  say  it.  I 
ought  flatly  to  have  said  no,  but  I  didn't.  How 
strongly  was  I  now  governed  by  the  diplomacy 
of  politics ! 

"Most  any  time  will  do,  I  suppose,"  I  re- 


THE   CRADLE   OF   VALOR.       23 

plied,  trying  to  gird  up  my  resolution  to  deny 
him  the  absurd  favor. 

"Well,  no,  I  want  to  send  it  off  today."  He 
arose  and,,  standing  in  front  of  me,  began  to 
meter  his  talk  with  motions  of  his  forefinger. 
"Now,  you  are  not  running  the  slightest  bit  of 
risk.  Either  of  the  other  candidates  would  do 
it  in  a  moment  and  thank  me  most  gratefully 
for  the  opportunity.  But  I  want  you  because 
you  are  going  to  be  elected;  and  the  letter 
would  be  a  good  thing  to  show  in  after  years. 
I'll  ring  for  writing  material — no,  there's  some 
on  the  table." 

He  was  so  confident,  so  enthusiastic,  and 
withal  so  free  in  the  expression  of  his  prefer 
ence  for  me  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  douche 
him  with  cold  water.  I  wrote  the  letter  to  the 
dear  old  lady,  not  mincingly,  but  with  a  full 
ness  of  statement  that  caused  him  tightly  to 
grip  my  hand  and  sigh  from  the  depth  of  his 
gratitude. 

"You  have  a  fine  view  of  the  old  Alamo," 
he  said,  folding  his  "character"  and  putting 


24  IN    THE   ALAMO. 

it  into  his  pocket.  "You  have  been  in  it  many 
a  time,  I  reckon?" 

"No,  not  many  a  time,  only  once,  but  I  am 
going  again.  I  am  a  stranger  in  this  city,  you 
know." 

"Yes.  In  our  marvelous  State  two  congres 
sional  districts  may  be  a  thousand  miles  apart, 
but  the  Senator's  mantle  must  spread  over  the 
entire  country.  But,  Lucian,  you  are  going  to 
get  there.  Of  course  you  are  going  to  make  a 
speech  here  and  I  want  it  as  soon  as  you  can 
give  it  to  me — and  by  the  way,  come  right  over 
to  the  Alamo  and  dictate  something." 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  MEETING  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

It  was  still  early  and  there  were  not  many 
persons  in  the  lobby  of  the  hotel,  but  Quailes 
pulled  me  by  the  sleeve  from  time  to  time  as 
we  were  passing  through,  to  introduce  a  noted 
cattle  man,  a  wool  raiser,  a  young  fellow  who 
had  caught  the  largest  tarpon  ever  seen  on  the 
Texas  coast,  and  a  boy,  the  noted  bootblack  of 
the  city.  And  he  found  as  much  pleasure  in  the 
ceremony  as  if  he  were  leading  forward  high 
potentates  of  the  land,  and  I  did  not  think  the 
less  of  him  for  it. 

'Oh,  I  run  with  the  best  of  them,"  said  he. 
"To  catch  me  a  man  must  have  done  something 
or  have  an  ambition  that  promises  something. 
I  don't  recognize  inherited  greatness.  See  that 
fellow?  Best  hackman  in  the  State.  And  he 


26  IN    THE    ALAMO. 

might  be  of  use  to  us.     Oh,  say,  Jim,  come 
here." 

When  I  had  shaken  hands  with  the  hackman, 
who  said,  "bet  your  life"  in  response  to  Quailes' 
declaration  that  I  should  be  elected,  we  went 
straightway  to  the  Alamo.  The  sun  was  pour 
ing  upon  it,  and  about  its  sullen  eaves  birds, 
moved  to  music,  were  sweetly  twittering.  I 
halted  at  the  portal  to  gaze  upon  the  carving, 
the  work  of  a  graceful  chisel.  Two  ladies 
passed  through  the  doorway.  One  had  just 
crossed  the  line  of  middle  life,  the  other  a  model 
of  grace ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  I  should  have 
paid  to  them  the  contribution  of  even  a  passing 
attention  had  not  the  young  woman  sprung  out 
as  if  unconsciously  to  challenge  comparison 
with  the  work  of  the  artist.  They  turned  into 
the  first  room  oh  the  right  and  Quailes  followed 
them.  I  walked  down  the  main  room,  where 
the  ground  had  once  been  red  with  as  brave 
blood  as  ever  enriched  the  earth,  and  had  halted 
to  look  at  a  niche  in  the  wall  where  the  monk 
was  wont  to  put  his  midnight  lamp,  when 
Quailes  came  hastily  to  me  and  said  that  the 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  ALAMO.  27 

two  ladies  desired  an  introduction  to  me.  I  had 
no  time  to  hang  back;  he  seized  my  arm  and 
conducted  me  to  Bowie's  room  wherein  he  lay 
with  fever  and  wherein  his  cot  had  been  brought 
across  the  line  which  the  commander  had  traced 
with  his  sword.  And  then  I  was  presented  to 
Mrs.  Acklin,  and  her  daughter  Zaleme.  We 
shook  hands,  after  the  warm-hearted  manner 
of  Texas,  and  though  there  was  no  especial 
restraint,  yet  it  did  not  seem  to  me  that  they 
had  importuned  Quailes  for  the  introduction. 
The  mother  was  a  woman  in  whose  quiet  man 
ner  there  might  be  much  authority.  She  was 
slightly  gray,  very  soft  of  voice,  a  presence  to 
suggest  the  word  "mother."  Her  expression 
was  a  sort  of  calm  sadness  which  comes  with 
long  contemplation  of  religion — not  a  sad 
ness,  perhaps,  but  a  semi-holiness.  It  was  some 
moments  before  I  suffered  my  eyes  to  fill  them 
selves  with  the  young  woman.  As  I  look 
back  now  I  know  that  I  was  struck  with  a  sud 
den  trepidation,  as  if  I  were  about  to  look  upon 
a  fascinating  trouble.  But  I  filled  my  eyes  with 
her.  How  black  was  her  hair,  and  her  eyes 


28  IN    THE   ALAMO. 

might  have  come  from  Egypt.  Her  complexion 
was  rich  rather  than  fair,  and  her  lips  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  stained  with  the  juice 
of  the  old  mission  grape.  I  know  that 
this  is  more  of  rhapsody  than  description,  but 
who  can  describe  a  delight?  I  can  say  that 
she  was  tall,  yes,  and  gracefully  moving  off  in 
one  direction  when  you  had  expected  her  to 
move  in  another — that  in  nearly  everything  she 
was  forestalling  and  a  surprise,  and  if  not  meet 
ing  expectation  in  one  thing  surpassing  it  in  all 
things.  Sometimes  her  smile  was  slow,  and 
sometimes  it  was  like  a  flash  of  lightning;  and 
at  one  moment  I  thought  that  I  had  known  her 
always,  and  then  that  I  never  had  and  never 
could  know  her.  And  with  strange  perversity 
she  reminded  me  of  numerous  women  whom  I 
had  almost  loved,  and  sent  my  mind  back  in  a 
harrassing  and  fruitless  search  to  find  them. 
Her — but  I  am  rhapsodizing  again. 

"Bowie  died  in  this  room,"  said  I,  and 
Quailes  cried  out,  "You  bet  he  did;"  and  I 
looked  at  this  wondrous  creature,  expecting 
that  she  must  have  fainted.  But  she  had  not ; 


A   MEETING  IN  THE  ALAMO.    29 

she  was  smiling.  "He  is  what  my  father  would 
call  a  case,"  she  said.  "And  he  is  so  amusing, 
almost  shockingly  entertaining.  Yes,  here  is 
where  Bowie  died,  and  out  there,"  she  added, 
waving  her  hand,  "is  where  old  Crockett  was 
found,  surrounded  by  his  enemies." 

"I  am  proud  of  him,"  I  said. 

"You  are?"  she  spoke  up. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  Tennesseean." 

"Oh !  And  blood  from  my  State  was  spilled 
here.  I  am  from  Kentucky." 

"And  in  this  corner,"  said  I,  "may  have 
been  held  a  weird  religious  ceremony,  just  be 
fore  the  final  slaughter,  for  some  of  those  he 
roes  must  have  been  church  members,  and — " 
I  looked  at  her  and  silence  fell  upon  my  tongue. 
With  hands  clasped  she  was  gazing  at  the  cor 
ner,  and  her  lips  were  shut  so  close  that  they 
were  traced  by  a  waving  line,  and  her  breath 
was  deep  and  slow.  I  looked  toward  Quailes. 
He  and  Mrs.  Acklin  were  talking  over  a  photo 
graph  which  evidently  he  had  just  taken  from 
his  pocket.  I  turned  again  to  the  young  woman. 
She  had  not  changed  her  attitude  nor  the  ex- 


30  IN    THE    ALAMO. 

pression  of  her  countenance;  like  the  devotee 
of  a  mystic  religion,  suddenly  smitten  with  an 
inward  reproach  for  not  having  discharged  the 
duty  due  from  the  soul  to  a  higher  spirit,  she 
stood,  oblivious  of  the  world — of  me.  The 
mother  looked  around,  with  the  photograph  in 
her  hand  as  if  to  speak,  but  instantly  she  turned 
away  and  in  a  low  tone  spoke  to  Quailes.  So 
she  must  have  seen  that  attitude,  that  devotion, 
before;  and  respecting  it,  gave  to  it  her  sanc 
tion. 

Quailes  called  out  something  to  me,  and  the 
young  woman  moved,  walked  out  into  the  large 
room,  and  I  followed  her  as  far  as  the  door, 
through  which  I  could  see  her  as  slowly  she 
walked,  meditating,  towards  the  far  end  of  the 
chapel.  Presently  she  came  back,  almost  com 
pletely  changed,  her  lips  apart  and  her  eyes 
almost  merry.  I  expected  some  sort  of  explana 
tion,  but  she  offered  none,  not  a  word,  and  then 
I  wondered  whether  she  had  been  conscious  of 
her  devotional  reverie.  Quailes  came  forward 
with  the  photograph  and,  handing  it  to  her,  said  : 

"Now  Miss  Zaleme,  there's  a  girl — a  girl 


A   MEETING   IN   THE  ALAMO.   31 

right,  you  might  say.  And  your  mother,  here, 
says  my  taste  is  good." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Acklin,  "and  if  all  your 
selections  are  to  be  marked  by  a  similar  judg 
ment  you  must  surely  become  a  reference 
for " 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  guying  me." 

"Guying?"  she  repeated  her  face  brighten 
ing  with  surprise. 

"Mother  doesn't  guy,"  said  the  daughter, 
returning  the  photograph.  "Yes,  a  very  good 
looking  girl,  I  should  say." 

"Well,  I  should  say  you  should." 

"How  long  have  you  known  her,  Mr. 
Quailes?" 

"Oh,  I  haven't  met  her  but  a  few  times,  but 
when  I  meet  people  I  meet  'em.  I  am  what 
you  might  call  a  quick  and  effective  meeter. 
I  said  to  her,  'Young  woman,  you  may  not 
realize  it,  being  young  and  inexperienced,  but 
fate  is  standing  right  here  talking  to  you :'  she 
blushed,  for  she  realized  the  fact,  but  her 
mother  is  one  of  these  fate-fighting  women — 
she  objected,  but  it  will  be  all  right  now,  for 


32  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

no  one  can  deny  the  fact  that  my  friend,  Lucian 
Howardson,  is  going  to  the  Senate,  and  he  has 
given  me  a  letter  that  will  curl  the  old  lady's 
hair.  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

I  protested  but  the  ladies  mischievously  in 
sisted,  and  Quailes,  declaring  that  not  even  the 
opposition  of  a  Senator  should  prevail  against 
the  wishes  of  ladies,  especially  in  Texas,  read 
the  letter.  Mrs.  Acklin  turned  to  me :  "How 
generous  of  you — such  praise.  You  must  have 
known  Mr.  Quailes  a  long  time." 

I  stammered,  but  Quailes  blurted  out: 
"Never  met  him  personally  until  this  morning, 
but  of  course  I  knew  him  by  reputation,  and 
was  willing  to  give  him  my  confidence  to  the 
extent  of  suggesting  this  letter.  But  say,  Lu 
cian,  we've  got  a  good  many  men  to  meet  to 
day  and  must  therefore  bid  the  ladies  a  reluct 
ant  good  morning.  Madam,"  he  continued, 
speaking  to  Mrs.  Acklin,  "do  not  include  me 
when  you  meditate  upon  the  evil  that  men  do, 
but  remember  me  as  a  man  always  looking 
higher.  Miss  Zaleme,  still  hoping  that  your 
stay  in  our  city  may  be  full  of  pleasant  dreams 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  ALAMO.    33. 

and  awakenings  none  the  less  joyous,  I  wish 
you  good  morning." 

I  looked  straight  and  searchingly  into  the 
young  woman's  eyes  as  I  took  her  hand  upon 
parting,  and  she  met  my  gaze  as  steadily  as 
if  she  had  been  a  school-fellow.  I  had  not  im 
pressed  her  as  a  Quailes  might  have  done — she 
did  not  seem  to  feel  that  fate  had  taken  her 
hand. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ADVISED   WITH    ME. 

The  politician  must  cultivate  geographical 
friendships.  He  must  have  his  coaling  sta 
tions.  I  had  not  neglected  San  Antonio.  Sev 
eral  of  its  prominent  citizens  had  in  well-con 
sidered  days  been  warmed  into  a  preference  for 
me,  and  I  did  not  think  I  had  taken  an  advan 
tage  of  them.  Someone  must  represent  them, 
and  if  I  had  convinced  them,  even  by  design, 
that  I  was  the  proper  man,  then  I  had  shown 
no  lack  of  sincerity  and  had  no  apologies  to 
offer.  These  reflections  led  me  to  the  remark 
that  the  office  seeker,  to  appear  strong  and 
conscientious,  must  "square"  himself  with  him 
self. 

In  my  room  a  number  of  friends  gathered 
to  advise  with  me  and  to  assure  me  of  suc 
cess.  Anthony  Hotze,  fat,  red,  curly-haired 

34 


ADVISED  WITH  ME.  35 

and  oily  under  a  silk  hat,  was  a  typical  hench 
man.  Years  ago  he  had  come  from  New  York 
in  search  of  lungs  and  had  acquired  a  stomach, 
and  covering  it  with  a  beflowered  vest,  was 
proud  of  himself.  To  any  cause  which  he 
might  espouse  Hotze  contributed  a  certain 
weakness.  But  no  one  could  frown  upon  his  al 
legiance  ;  he  was  so  interested,  so  solicitous  and 
so  hopeful  that  it  would  have  been  brutal  to 
scout  at  him.  In  any  gathering,  those  most  con 
cerned  in  the  success  of  a  cause  were  stricken 
with  nervous  anxiety  whenever  he  began  to 
speak  and  drew  deep  sighs  when  he  left  off. 
He  possessed  much  ill-assorted  information,  a 
jumble  of  learning,  picked  up  here  and  there 
and  unfortunately  never  forgotten.  He  would 
refer  to  "this  Cincinnatus,  leaving  his  ax  and 
coming  out  to  save  his  country."  And  within 
a  few  moments  after  coming  to  me  with  his 
"allegiance"  he  said :  "Gentlemen,  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  to  me  the  outcome  is  perfectly 
plain.  The  boys  here  will  tell  you  that  I  have 
never  gone  wrong  on  a  prize  fight  or  an  elec 
tion  ;  and  I  say  Howardson  is  going  to  win  the 


36  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

battle.  It  is  a  Mookerheyde,  with  its  result 
already  foretold  in  the  clouds." 

My  friend  Haney  spoke  up,  "Hotze,  being 
from  Manhattan  Island,  you  must  necessarily 
have  a  smattering  of  Dutch  history,  but  at 
Mookerheyde  the  patriot  army  was  defeated 
and  Louis  of  Nassau  was  killed.  Justice  was 
crushed,  while  on  this  occasion  we  hope  that 
justice  will  win." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  Hotze  replied,  in  no  wise 
put  out,  "that  is  a  figure,  and  you've  got  to 
give  a  figure  plenty  of  lee  room;  the  minute 
you  begin  to  cramp  it,"  he  added,  leaning  over 
and  letting  his  hand  fall  upon  my  knee,  "you 
destroy  its — I  might  say,  force.  We  want  to 
meet  the  boys  and ' 

"In  this  contest,"  Haney  interrupted,  "it  is 
not  a  question  of  meeting  the  boys.  We  are 
not  running  for  Alderman;  we  want  to  go  to 
the  Senate." 

"That's  all  right  in  its  way,"  Hotze  per 
sisted,  "but  this  thing  is  mainly  to  be  settled  by 
primaries,  and  if  the  boys  don't  run  the  pri 
maries  I  don't  know  who  does." 


ADVISED  WITH  ME.  37 

"We  will  make  our  arrangements  for  an  ad 
dress  to  be  delivered  in  the  opera  house,"  said 
Haney  to  me,  "and  if  you  do  as  well  as  I  have 
heard  you,  we  will  catch  the  people.  We — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  coming  of  a  man 
named  Briggs.  He  came  to  tell  me  that  while 
he  was  an  Apperson  man  and  would  do  any 
thing  to  insure  his  election,  yet  he  wished 
me  well.  He  had  called  merely  to  let  me  know 
where  he  stood.  I  could  have  told  him  that 
never  having  heard  of  him  I  did  not  know  that 
he  stood  at  all.  But  a  certain  degree  of  respect 
is  due  to  frankness,  and  he  aspired  to  the  dis 
tinction  of  open  enmity.  However,  he  lingered 
after  having  announced  his  mission.  He  asked 
numerous  questions,  as  to  my  views  on  this 
and  that. 

Haney  cleared  his  throat.  "I  beg  your  par 
don,"  he  said  to  Briggs,  "but  for  one  who  has 
no  interest  in  our  affairs,  you're  taking  up  a 
good  deal  of  our  time." 

Briggs  smiled.  "A  man  who  aspires  to  serve 
the  people  in  a  high  position  ought  to  answer 
the  people's  questions." 


38  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Well,"  Haney  rejoined,  "we'll  answer  our 
share  and  let  your  man  Apperson  answer  the 
rest." 

Briggs  said  that  he  would  go,  but  he  did  not 
just  at  that  time ;  he  came  back  after  reaching 
the  door,  reaffirmed  his  preference  for  Apper 
son,  but  hoped  that  I  would  make  myself  at 
.home  while  in  the  city,  even  though  the  city 
would  undoubtedly  give  its  support  to  another 
man.  And  then  he  took  his  leave.  How  easily 
a  candidate  is  elated  or  depressed.  A  word  or 
even  a  look  may  haunt  him;  and  while  I  had 
no  faith  in  the  judgment  of  Briggs,  yet  he  tied 
a  weight  about  my  neck  and  I  wore  it  during 
the  remainder  of  the  day ;  but  it  fell  off  at  night, 
for  many  a  warm  hand  came  to  clasp  mine,  and 
to  me  was  spoken  many  a  resonant  and  stirring 
word  of  encouragement.  During  the  evening 
I  held  a  continuous  reception  in  the  lobby  of 
the  tavern,  and  I  was  tired  when  late  at  night 
I  went  up  to  my  room.  I  sat  down  to  think  over 
my  chances,  and  I  felt  that  they  were  good. 
Suddenly  I  seemed  to  hear  the  name  Zaleme — 
I  could  almost  have  sworn  that  it  was  whis- 


ADVISED  WITH  ME.  39 

pered  warm  in  my  ear ;  and  then  I  remembered 
that  I  had  forgotten  her,  during  all  the  hours 
of  the  afternoon  and  night.  But  my  nerves 
must  have  been  keyed  taut  when  she  twanged 
them  like  strings.  And  upon  leaving  her  I  had 
fancied  that  I  had  been  deeply  wounded  by 
her,  for  often  an  impression  is  but  a  wound ! 
Looking  back  over  that  brief  lapse  of  time  I 
could  not  then  see  her  as  clearly  as  afterward 
she  stood  in  my  memory,  gazing  into  the  cor 
ner  where  brave  blood  had  flowed  for  country. 
Was  she  handsome  ?  I  could  not  determine,  for 
her  face  eluded  me.  I  could  see  her  lips  and 
eyes ;  and  I  knew  that  her  complexion  was  not 
pale,  that  she  was  graceful ;  but  I  could  not 
grasp  her  in  my  mind.  Once  I  thought  I  had, 
but  her  lips  parted  in  a  white  and  scarlet  smile 
and  she  was  gone,  a  shadow  graceful  in  the  air. 
It  was  past  midnight  when  Quailes  came  with 
the  proof  sheet  of  an  interview  with  me,  more 
than  a  column  in  length ;  and  I  shuddered  as  I 
took  it,  for  glancing  at  it  I  saw  that  in  its  con 
versational  form  I  was  made  to  speak  for  my 
self.  But  I  was  soon  greatly  relieved,  for  it 


40  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

was  well  expressed  and  dignified  in  tone.  "Of 
course  the  paper  won't  let  me  say  anything,  but 
I  can  print  what  you  say,"  he  observed,  and 
then  added :  "Don't  have  to  choke  a  political 
situation  to  death  in  order  to  kill  it,  you  know." 

I  had  offered  a  chair  but  he  had  not  sat 
down;  he  stood  looking  at  me,  posing  as  if  to 
begin  his  "cake  walk."  "Sit  down,  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  and  sat  down.  I  spoke 
of  Miss  Acklin,  of  her  strange  reverie  in  the 
Alamo.  He  had  not  noticed  it.  Was  it,  then, 
a  freak  of  my  own  fancy?  In  his  opinion  she 
was  a  young  woman  of  good  common  sense, 
and  not  more  than  ordinarily  good  looking. 
She  had  a  brother,  a  prominent  physician,  liv 
ing  in  San  Antonio,  and  she  and  her  mother 
were  visiting  him. 

"By  the  way,"  I  remarked,  "you  said  that 
they  wanted  to  meet  me.  Had  they  requested 
an  introduction  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  but  the  fact  is  that  nearly  everybody 
wants  to  meet  my  friends.  One  of  my  principal 
characteristics  is  to  have  friends  that  people 


ADVISED  WITH  ME.  41 

want  to  meet.  Choosing  friends  ought  to  be 
numbered  among  the  sciences — and  if  I  were 
the  main  guy  of  a  university  I  would  include 
it  in  the  curriculum.  I  know  the  Doctor  very 
well — he's  under  obligations  to  me.  When 
he  cuts  off  a  leg,  an  arm  or  even  a  finger,  I 
publish  the  fact.  Do  you  want  to  go  out  there 
and  call  on  Miss  Zaleme?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know." 

"If  you  don't  know,  you  do,  of  course.  I'll 
make  the  engagement." 

"Wait  until  after  I  have  appeared  at  the 
opera  house  as  the  champion  of  the  people." 

"All  right;  and  I'll  see  that  she  comes  to  the 
speaking.  But  at  present  I  guess  we  both  need 
sleep." 

He  went  away  and  I  sat  in  the  window,  look 
ing  out  upon  the  Alamo,  frowning  in  the  moon 
light. 


CHAPTER  V. 

LIKED   THE   SPEECH. 

The  speech  was  done  and  numerous  persons 
were  coming  forward  to  shake  hands  with  me, 
as  I  stood  upon  the  stage;  and  my  eyes  wan 
dered  about  in  search  of  a  face,  for  Quailes 
had  come  to  me  and  told  me  that  she  was  there. 
Women  as  well  as  men  came  to  encourage 
me,  and  I  wondered  why  she  held  aloof. 
Surely  she  could  have  no  interest  in  me,  and 
if  she  had  not,  why  should  I  care  to  call  upon 
her  at  her  brother's  house?  Ah,  she  came, 
with  her  brother,  and  held  out  her  hand,  say 
ing  that  she  was  pleased  to  meet  me  again ;  and 
when  the  brother  had  assured  me  that  my  speech 
had  won  his  good  will,  I  was  elated.  But  why 
had  I  questioned  myself  concerning  her?  I 
found  I  could  talk  to  her  in  a  matter-of-fact 

manner,  with  no  suggestion  of  emotional  re- 
42 


LIKED  THE  SPEECH.          43 

straint;  and  looking  into  her  eyes  I  remem 
bered  her  school-fellow  frankness  in  meeting 
eye  with  eye.  And  so,  she  was  now  an  acquaint 
ance,  to  be  perhaps  a  friend.  It  must  be  true 
that  after  passing  the  age  of  thirty-five  some 
men  are  afraid  lest  they  meet  the  "right" 
woman.  I  remember  to  have  heard  a  man  cry 
out :  "Merciful  Lord,  and  must  I  marry  her?" 
"Then  why,  if  you  are  so  alarmed,"  some  one 
spoke  out.  "I  can't  help  it.  Why,  confound 
her,  she  has  poisoned  me."  The  grand  passion, 
to  be  dreaded  by  all  men  and  deplored  by  all 
women,  was  upon  him.  And  now,  as  I  stood 
talking  to  this  woman,  I  wondered  if  she  could 
poison  me  with  those  eyes.  The  Doctor  was 
drawn  apart  from  us  by  a  thin-breasted  refu 
gee  from  the  North. 

"Have  you  been  to  our  shrine  since  I  saw  you 
there?  The  Alamo." 

"Our  shrine!  Mine.  Oh,"  she  cried,  with 
a  decided  change  of  manner,  "I  understand — 
the  blood  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  Yes,  our 
shrine.  No,  I  have  not  been  there  since  I  saw 
you.  What  a  fine  audience  you  had,"  she  said, 


44  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

looking  off  toward  the  front  door,  where 
people  were  still  massed. 

"Yes,"  singularly  quick.  "I  hope  I  pleased 
you." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  easily  pleased — I  mean  you 
did." 

I  had  turned  my  eyes  away.  I  did  not  wish 
to  view  her  in  the  redness  of  her  embarrass 
ment.  Yes,  I  let  her  blush,  and  when  I  fancied 
that  she  was  cooled  I  looked  at  her,  and  upon 
my  honor  I  could  have  sworn  that  she  had  not 
blushed  at  all. 

"How  long  do  you  expect  to  remain  in  San 
Antonio?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  until  mother  gets  tired.  As  for  myself, 
it  makes  no  difference.  But  I  suppose  that 
within  a  few  weeks  we  shall  go  for  a  short  time 
to  Riplar,  a  little  old  town  off  in  the  timber, 
they  tell  me.  Perhaps  you  know  where  it  is." 

"Yes,  I  live  there." 

"Oh,  do  you?  Are  you  acquainted  with 
Andrew  Carson?" 

"Yes;  he  is  one  of  our  stanchest  citizens." 


LIKED  THE  SPEECH.  45 

"He  is  mother's  brother.  I'm  glad  you  know 
him.  What  sort  of  a  town  is  it  ?" 

"It  is  built  upon  a  rise  of  red  ground  and  has 
the  appearance  of  being  old." 

"And  I  suppose  I  can  walk  out  into  the 
wooded  country.  I  don't  like  cities,  or  even 
towns.  I  love  the  country,  and  I  should  be 
happy  never  to  see  another  pavement.  If  I  were 
to  tell  you  of  one  of  the  most  enjoyable  occa 
sions  in  my  memory  you  would  laugh  at  me, 
I'm  sure.  It  was  while  I  was  in  Georgia,  a  long 
time  ago,  wading  barefoot  in  the  cotton  seed  in 
a  cotton  pen.  Isn't  that  a  glorious  thing  to  re 
member?" 

"Yes,  if  it  gave  you  such  pleasure.  One  of 
my  keenest  enjoyments  is  something  similar,  at 
least  no  more  notable — dropping  like  a  turtle 
from  a  log  into  the  river." 

We  could  talk  without  emotion,  I  could ;  and 
she  had  no  thought  of  restraint.  And  in  those 
eyes  there  might  be  poison  for  some  one,  but 
not  for  me.  Was  it  my  parting  talk  with  old 
Sam  Hall  that  inspired  a  sudden  mistrust  of 
women  ?  But  we  had  held  such  talks  on  more 


46  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

than  one  occasion,  at  times  when  his  wounds 
were  agape  and  bleeding,  and  I  had  not  been 
made  alert  with  any  sort  of  fear. 

Together  we  walked  toward  the  entrance, 
around  by  the  side  passage  way,  she  in  front 
talking  pleasantly,  looking  back  at  times;  and 
I  wondered  why  I  thought  of  that  old  liar,  Sir 
John  Maundeville,  who  said  that  in  the  countries 
which  he  had  visited  there  were  women  with 
jewels  in  their  eyes  with  which  they  could  look 
and  kill.  I  didn't  know  how  far  away  the  Doc 
tor  lived,  and  perhaps  I  might  walk  home  with 
her;  but  she  had  come  with  the  Doctor  in  his 
buggy — the  distance,  I  learned,  was  several 
miles ;  and  so  the  fragile  hope  of  a  moon-lighted 
stroll  was  blown  away  like  the  down  of  the  cot- 
tonwood  tree.  But  something  had  been  accom 
plished,  I  thought — as  I  walked  across  the  plaza 
toward  the  hotel — permission  to  call  upon  her 
the  following  evening.  I  was  bold  enough  to 
analyze  the  interest  which  I  felt  in  her;  and  I 
knew  that  it  was  nothing  except  a  desire  to 
know  more  of  her.  I  reminded  myself  of  a 
coin  collector  and  she  a  strange  coin.  But  there 


LIKED  THE  SPEECH.  47 

was  no  desire  for  possession.  How  lightly  she 
had  sprung  into  the  buggy,  and  how  she  had 
appeared  to  dance  on  the  sidewalk,  so  agile  was 
she  upon  her  feet.  Was  it  a  spiritual  or  physi 
cal  lightness  ?  And  my  spirit  rose  with  her  as 
she  sprang  into  the  buggy,  and  in  my  breast 
was  the  thrilling  flutter  that  comes  when  we 
swing,  described  by  a  boy  who  said  that  he 
liked  it  because  it  made  him  feel  glad.  In  my 
speech  I  had  achieved  success,  I  felt  it;  and 
yet  how  little  was  I  thrilled.  At  the  hotel  a 
number  of  voters  were  waiting  to  greet  me, 
among  them  Briggs,  my  open-faced  enemy. 
"You  did  very  well,"  he  said,  giving  me  a  cool 
shake  of  the  hand.  "Yes,  sir,  I  have  heard  your 
effort  favorably  spoken  of.  You  are  well 
calculated  to  catch  the  popular  fancy,  still  the 
statesman ' ' 

"Popular  fancy  is  of  the  masses  of  the 
people,"  I  broke  in.  "And  I  don't  care  to  be 
elected  unless  I  am  the  choice  of  the  people." 

This  may  have  been  buncombe  of  the  cheap 
est  order,  and  perhaps  it  was,  but  the  bystanders 
applauded  and  Briggs  withdrew.  Shortly 


4&  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

afterward  I  went  to  my  room  and  wrote  thus 
to  old  Sam  Hall :  "You  are  a  man  of  wisdom 
and  experience,  but  I  don't  believe  in  your  the 
ories.  I  believe  that  a  man  with  the  proper 
estimation  of  himself  can  entrench  and  battle 
ment  his  heart  against  any  woman  in  the  world. 
The  grand  passion  may  come  upon  a  very 
young  man,  but  the  man  who  has  arrived  at  the 
sensible  age — let  us  say  thirty-five — wants  com 
panionship.  You  can't  put  off  any  of  your 
grand  passion  upon  him.  Mind  you,  I  don't 
say  that  love,  even  powerful  love,  does  not  ex 
ist.  It  seems  to  be  necessary  in  order  that  art 
and  literature  may  be  carried  to  the  tower  in 
the  seventh  heaven  of  exaltation.  But  it 
is  an  insanity,  which,  as  science  advances, 
will  be  treated  as  a  disease.  You  remem 
ber  old  Andrew  Carson,  whose  money  is 
good  but  hard  to  get.  He  has  a  sister,  who  is 
at  present  visiting  her  son  here.  She  is  a  very 
pleasant  woman,  refined,  and  with  that  quiet 
sweet  air  which  we  of  the  South  like  to  believe 
belongs  to  our  women  more  than  to  the  women 
of  any  other  land ;  and  I  am  prepared  to  say 


LIKED  THE  SPEECH.  ,49 

that  it  is  a  fact.  She  is  coming  to  Riplar  and  I 
wish  you  would  call  on  her.  I  am  getting 
along  first-rate  in  my  campaign  work;  have 
shaken  a  thousand  hands  and  a  few  prejudices. 
Tonight  I  made  a  speech  at  the  opera  house, 
and  every  time  I  repeat  it  I  can  count  on  new 
friends.  I  met  this  Mrs.  Acklin  in  the  Alamo, 
and  was  introduced  by  a  reporter  named  John 
Quailes,  a  peculiar  duck,  you  would  term  him ; 
but  he  is  all  right  and  a  good  friend  to  the 
cause.  I  wish  that  you  had  seen  the  enthu 
siasm  of  the  audience  tonight,  not  that  you 
would  have  had  cause  to  feel  proud  of  your 
friend,  but  that  you  would  have  received  a 
glimpse  of  the  possibility  of  his  election,  for 
enthusiasm  in  this  cosmopolitan  city  means 
much.  I  forgot  to  mention  that  Mrs.  Acklin 
is  accompanied  by  her  daughter,  a  young 
woman  of  about  twenty-five." 

I  had  sealed  my  letter  and  was  gazing  at  it 
listlessly  when  there  came  a  rap  at  my  door. 
Quailes  came  in  full  of  enthusiasm,  not  indeed 
over  my  speech,  but  over  the  fact  that  he  had 
made  four  columns  of  it.  He  declared  that  he 


50  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

couldn't  possibly  "go  stale"  on  such  an  occa 
sion,  but  that  when  he  began  to  "round  up'1 
his  material  he  surprised  himself.  And  after 
a  time  he  looked  at  me  and  said :  "I  want  to 
tell  you  something  that  perhaps  some  people 
don't  know.  There  isn't  any  accident  about 
me ;  I  am  all  design,  my  talk  and  dress.  Sup 
pose  I  were  to  dress  like  other  men.  Who'd 
notice  me?  Nobody.  I  would  simply  belong 
to  the  herd.  With  some  men  eccentricity  is  a 
vanity,  but  with  me  it  is  business.  I  want  peo 
ple  to  remember  me,  and  I  impress  myself  on 
them.  And  then  if  they  have  anything  worth 
printing  and  I  am  around  they  give  it  to  me. 
I  am  naturally  modest,  and  I  tried  modesty  for 
a  number  of  years,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  it 
won't  work.  You  caught  the  Doctor  all  right 
tonight.  I  sat  where  I  could  see  the  girl  and 
I  know  she  was  deeply  interested." 

"What  girl?" 

"Miss  Zaleme,  of  course.  Wasn't  she  the 
only  girl  there  so  far  as  you  were  concerned? 
I  thought  you  were  a  married  man  until  you 
began  to  take  such  notice  of  her." 


LIKED  THE  SPEECH.  51 

"Take  notice  of  her !  Why,  Quailes,  I  haven't 
taken  any  particular  notice  of  her.  I  am  a  man 
of  too  much  experience  to  take  decided  notice 
on  short  acquaintance.  I  haven't  taken  any 
vows,  but  long  ago  I  resolved  to  remain  a 
bachelor.  Once  I  was  on  the  eve  of  marrying 
a  woman  of  striking  appearance,  and  a  woman 
who  would  be  of  great  advantage  to  me  in  this 
campaign.  But  she  grew  tired  of  waiting, 
and  in  the  meantime  we  discovered  that  instead 
of  lovers  we  were  simply  confidential  friends." 

"And  they  are  sometimes  material  for  happy 
marriages,"  said  Quailes.  "I  don't  know  that 
it's  a  good  idea  to  marry  a  passion,  for  that 
sort  of  thing  can't  last."  He  put  back  his  arms, 
yawned  and  added :  "I  had  a  passion  once  and 
I  tried  to  kill  myself  over  it;  and  there  never 
was  a  more  disappointed  and  disgusted  human 
being  than  I  was  when  I  found  that  my  plan  of 
self-destruction  had  been  thwarted.  Yes,  sir, 
I  wanted  to  die.  But  this  girl  I  have  now  in 
spires  rest  and  peace.  I  want  to  sit  down  by 
her  and  look  away  off  yonder,  holding  her 
hand,  and  not  care  whether  the  cows  come 


52  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

home  or  not.  There  are  two  sorts  of  love,  you 
know — the  whisper  love  and  the  roar  love — 
and  I  don't  want  any  more  of  the  latter.  But 
dropping  the  subject  of  love  for  a  moment 
(we  can  always  pick  it  up  again,  you  know), 
I  want  you  to  take  breakfast  with  me  about 
ten  o'clock  tomorrow  morning.  Among  the 
many  remarkable  features  about  this  ancient 
town  is  an  old  German  who  has  cooked  for 
three  Mexican  Presidents  and  one  Emperor  of 
Mexico.  He  serves  the  finest  beef  steak  that 
man  ever  tasted — has  a  secret.  It  doesn't  ap 
pear  to  make  any  difference  what  sort  of  steak 
he  has;  it's  in  the  cooking.  He  has  been  of 
fered  a  small  fortune  for  his  secret,  but  he  won't 
sell  it.  He  says  he'd  rather  leave  it  to  his  chil 
dren  than  to  leave  them  money.  Now,  I  know 
it  may  be  out  of  place  to  branch  off  at  such 
length  on  a  beef  steak  during  the  anxie 
ties  of  a  senatorial  campaign,  but  when 
ever  a  man  can  get  the  best  in  the 
world  of  anything,  why,  he  owes  it  to 
himself  to  get  it.  Well,  I've  made  a  speech 
nearly  as  long  as  yours,  and  I  won't  keep  you 


LIKED  THE  SPEECH.  53 

up  any  longer.  By  the  way,  you  made  an  en 
gagement  to  go  out  yonder  tomorrow  night, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  said  I  might  call.  By  the  way, 
Quailes,  have  you  any  idea  what  it  is  about  the 
Alamo  that  is  so  sacred  to  her  ?  I  spoke  of  it  as 
our  shrine,  and  forgetfully  she  cried  out 
'Mine.'  And  then  she  said,  'Oh,  yes,  the  blood 
of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.'  Have  you  any 
notion  as  to  what  she  meant?" 

"No,  but  I  guess  I  can  find  out." 

"I  wish  you  would,  that  is,  casually,  for  of 
course  it  is  of  no  particular  importance." 

He  bade  me  good-night,  giving  me  a  look 
that  I  did  not  exactly  like,  and  went  whistling 
down  the  hall.  And  he  had  tried  to  kill  him 
self! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WAITING  AND  IMPATIENT. 

The  next  morning  I  was  deep  in  the  study  of 
a  question  that  lay  close  to  the  interest  of  the 
people  and  which,  mastered,  must  set  me  high 
in  their  esteem,  when  Quailes  came  to  remind 
me  that  I  had  an  engagement  to  eat  a  beef  steak. 
I  asked  him  if  it  were  so  very  important  and 
he  answered,  "Vital."  Questions  could  be 
studied  at  any  time,  but  a  steak  cooked  by  that 
old  fellow  had  to  be  spoken  for  in  advance,  and 
the  arrangements  had  been  made. 

I  went  with  him  to  a  place  that  looked  like  a 
deserted  market  house.  I  learned  that  it  had 
once  been  a  seat  of  government,  having  been 
built  by  the  Spaniards  at  a  time  which  now  is 
almost  ancient.  In  the  center  of  a  broad  open 
space  was  the  gastronomic  shrine,  and  the  altar 
54 


WAITING  AND  IMPATIENT      55 

was  an  old  cook  stove.  About  it,  describing  a 
square,  was  a  counter,  or  rather  a  breast-high 
shelf.  There  was  no  cloth.  There  were  several 
stools  and  they  were  the  only  furniture. 
Quailes  introduced  me  to  the  old  man,  who, 
with  his  wife,  stood  in  the  pen  formed  by  the 
shelves.  He  was  told  that  I  was  to  be  the  next 
United  States  Senator  from  Texas,  and  he  re 
plied  that  it  made  no  difference  to  him,  he  would 
give  me  a  good  steak.  Somewhere  within  him 
there  must  have  been  a  strata  of  humor.  I 
learned  that  he  bought  a  certain  number  of 
steaks  each  day,  and  that  when  the  supply  was 
exhausted  he  closed  up,  or  rather  went  away, 
and  that  no  inducement  could  draw  him  back 
to  his  place  of  business.  Quailes  told  me  to 
watch  him.  He  raked  coals  of  fire  out  into  the 
apron  of  the  stove,  remarking  that  for  fuel  he 
used  only  the  mesquite  bush,  that  any  other 
wood  spoiled  a  steak.  His  wife  stood  near, 
watching  him  as  if  with  reverence.  When  the 
fire  had  been  arranged  to  his  notion  he  took 
up  a  piece  of  beef,  put  it  upon  a  block,  patted  it 
affectionately  with  the  broad  side  of  a  cleaver, 


56  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

turned  it  over  and  patted  the  other  side.  Then 
he  placed  it  upon  the  gridiron.  I  asked  Quailes 
if  the  old  fellow's  secret  lay  in  the  manner  of 
his  patting,  and  he  replied :  "Now  see  what 
he  is  doing."  The  old  man  had  taken  up  a  tin 
can,  and  with  a  spoon  was  pouring  a  clear 
liquid  on  the  meat,  and  the  steak,  which  I  had 
observed  was  thin,  at  once  arose  to  astonishing 
thickness.  He  stood  gazing  intently,  and  at 
the  proper  moment  turned  and  treated  the  other 
side  with  the  liquid.  And  when  the  steak  was 
served  I  could  have  cut  it  with  a  spoon,  and  the 
juice  was  as  the  essence  of  some  delicious  fruit 
ripened  in  an  air  heavy  with  sweet  odors;  and 
the  meat  itself  was  like  unto  the  butter  of  a 
prize  cow  fed  upon  spicewood  leaves  and  the 
bloom  of  the  wild  honeysuckle.  I  looked  at 
the  old  man,  and  he  stood  watching  me  with  a 
smile  upon  his  face.  Quailes  was  busy  with 
what  he  termed  a  luscious  assignment.  "Eat 
ing  is  vulgar  enough,"  said  he,  pausing  a  mo 
ment  in  his  exercises,  "but  since  it  must  be  done 
let  us  make  a  poetry  of  it.  This  juice  would 
have  converted  the  other  thief  on  the  cross. 


WAITING  AND  IMPATIENT.      57 

You  may  think  I'm  extravagant,  but  you  ought 
to  hear  some  of  these  other  fellows.  And  here 
comes  one  of  them  now,  the  Doctor,  by  the 
way." 

I  shook  hands  with  Dr.  Acklin,  giving  him 
a  tight  grip ;  he  was  slow  and  precise  of  speech, 
weighing  his  words  and  seeming  to  tilt  the 
scales  to  make  them  heavy,  but  I  listened  to 
him  with  great  interest.  The  old  man  went 
about  the  preparation  of  his  steak,  which,  I 
learned,  had  been  engaged  the  day  before,  and 
the  Doctor,  beginning  to  talk  about  it,  forgot 
his  caution  and  jerked  out  the  short,  quick 
sentences  of  enthusiasm. 

"Our  old  friend  here  and  our  marvelous  cli 
mate  are  in  league  against  consumption,"  said 
he.  "And  a  man  will  never  die  as  long  as  he 
can  eat  one  of  those  steaks,"  he  said,  laughing 
at  his  joke  and  the  joke  of  his  grandfather. 
"Ah,  here's  our  friend  Hotze." 

The  politician  grasped  me  by  the  hand, 
squeezed  it,  looked  me  in  the  eye  and  squeezed 
again.  "It's  all  right,"  said  he.  "Don't  you 
worry,  for  it's  all  right."  He  climbed  upon  a 


58  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

stool,  said  something  to  the  German  and  then 
addressed  himself  to  me.  "Some  men  have  a 
faculty  for  one  thing  and  some  another.  My 
faculty  is  what?  Success  in  business?  No; 
to  tell  who  will  be  elected.  With  me  it  is  a 
sort  of  instinct.  Didn't  I  see  your  double 
team  out  today,  Doctor?" 

"Yes,  my  sister  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Curry." 
"Well,  sir,  you  know  I  thought  it  was  Curry. 
He's  a  brilliant  preacher,  and  he's  going  to 
make  his  way  here." 

His  talk  was  annoying.  I  could  have 
knocked  him  on  the  head.  He  might  be  able 
by  his  peculiar  intuition  to  forecast  the  result 
of  an  election,  and  in  his  greasy  system  there 
might  have  been  the  essential  oil  of  honesty, 
but  he  was  a  bore.  Several  times  the  Doctor 
turned  to  me  to  say  something,  but  he  was  fore 
stalled  by  Hotze.  "But  politics  are  too  meager 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  New  York's  the 
only  place.  Old  Andy  Jackson  said :  *I  am 
not  a  politician,  but  if  I  were  I  would  be  a  New 
York  politician.' '  The  old  hero  said  it,  but 
who  wanted  to  hear  this  fellow  repeat  it?  At 


WAITING  AND  IMPATIENT.     59 

last  the  Doctor  found  an  opportunity  and  he  ad 
dressed  a  remark  to  me.  "If  you  don't  mind," 
said  he,  "I  would  like  to  call  for  you  tonight 
and  take  you  out  in  my  buggy."  I  told  him 
that  I  should  be  pleased,  which  was  the  truth. 
And  I  wish  I  may  be  put  to  the  torture  if  Hotze 
didn't  offer  to  go  with  us. 

"You  can't  lose  him,"  Quailes  remarked. 

"Well,  I  guess  not,"  Hotze  replied.  "When 
a  fellow  begins  to  let  them  lose  him  he's  gone. 
I  didn't  know,  Howardson,  but  it  was  some 
sort  of  a  political  conference  you  were  going  to 
hold  out  there." 

"No,  just  a  social  occasion,"  I  replied,  not 
looking  at  him. 

"If  that's  the  case  count  me  out.  I  haven't 
any  time  for  social  affairs." 

I  shook  hands  with  the  Doctor  and  returned 
to  the  hotel.  I  had  eaten  in  many  places  not 
confined  to  my  own  country,  but  never  before 
had  I  known  what  a  beef  steak  could  be;  and 
this  caused  me  to  be  all  the  more  provoked  at 
Hotze,  with  his  self-assertiveness.  And  why 


60  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

should  he  care  if  the  Doctor's  double  team  was 
out? 

"Quailes,  who  is  the  Rev.  Mr.  Curry?"  I 
asked,  as  we  sat  in  my  room  looking  out  at  the 
Alamo,  blazing  in  the  sun. 

"Oh,  he  is  a  sort  of  sky-scraping  preacher, 
newly  arrived,"  he  answered,  and  I  fancied 
that  I  saw  him  smile.  Was  he,  too,  going  to 
make  himself  intolerable? 

"A  man  old  enough  to  be  learned  in  the  book 
of  his  calling,"  I  suggested. 

"No,  he  is  a  young  chap,  rather  fresh  from 
college,  I  think." 

Haney  and  a  number  of  other  men  called  and 
we  talked  about  the  bleeding  condition  of  the 
country — the  absolute  need  of  a  change.  An 
old  man  came  with  his  little  grandson;  the 
youngster  had  heard  me  speak  and  wanted  to 
shake  hands  with  me.  He  was  a  freckle-faced 
chap  with  an  inquiring  eye,  and  the  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  overturn  the  inkstand.  The  old 
man  said,  "Oh,  tut,"  and  Quailes  said  some 
thing  that  sounded  like  "Oh,  hell."  When  the 
little  rascal's  hands  had  been  washed,  for  he 


WAITING  AND  IMPATIENT.     61 

had  dabbled  in  the  ink,  he  came  up  and  said : 
"I  want  you  to  tell  me  a  funny  story  like  the 
one  that  made  gramper  laugh." 

The  old  gentleman  spoke  up:  "Mr.  How- 
ardson  doesn't  want  to  tell  funny  stories  to 
little  boys,  Hector,  but  maybe  he  would  like 
to  hear  you  sing.  Won't  you  sing  for  him?" 

"And  if  I  sing  will  you  buy  me  some  ice 
cream?"  he  cried,  his  eyes  aflame.  The  old 
man  promised  and  he  howled  a  rhyme,  came 
within  one  of  overturning  the  ink  again,  and 
in  a  sort  of  triumphal  march  was  escorted 
from  the  room  by  the  grandfather. 

"You  can  bet  your  life  I'll  never  be  a  candi 
date,"  said  Quailes. 

"And  you  haven't  heard  that  I  intend  to  an 
nounce  myself  as  a  candidate  to  succeed  my 
self,"  I  replied,  and  the  dry  countenance  of 
Haney  cracked.  "Instead  of  being  the  people's 
servant,"  said  he,  "our  men  in  high  positions 
are  more  often  their  martyrs.  Yet,"  he  added, 
his  countenance  again  cracking,  "the  most  of 
us  are  willing  to  stand  the  tortures  of  martyr 
dom." 


62  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

Somehow  they  were  all  of  them  dull  to  me. 
I  wanted  no  longer  to  hear  compliments  nor 
to  receive  the  guesswork  assurances  of  certain 
victory.  The  fact  is,  I  wanted  to  think.  There 
were  many  problems  which  I  should  study  and 
be  quick  upon;  a  man  in  my  position  should 
have  been  ready  to  answer  every  question  in 
which  the  public  was  interested,  but  he  could 
not  do  it  without  deep  meditation,  and  he  could 
not  meditate  unless  he  were  left  alone.  Quailes 
went  out  to  chase  the  dogging  shadow  of  duty, 
and  finally  every  one  was  gone  save  Haney, 
who,  I  believed,  remained  to  show  me  that  he 
could  crack  his  countenance  again,  and  in  the 
hope  that  the  doing  of  the  trick  would  set  the 
limit  of  his  stay,  I  sought  by  various  means  to 
assist  him,  drew  him  out,  asked  numerous  ques 
tions,  repeated  what  he  had  said  about  martyr 
dom;  and  once  his  countenance  seamed  for  a 
moment,  but  it  did  not  crack.  I  remembered 
that  during  my  speech  he  had  laughed  at  a 
thrust  which  I  had  given  our  common  enemy, 
the  opposite  party,  and  I  devised  a  similar  one, 
but  he  did  not  smile.  Was  he  with  perverse 


WAITING  AND  IMPATIENT.     63 

unconsciousness  fighting  against  me?  He 
launched  a  long  harangue  upon  the  conduct  of 
the  campaign,  hinting  at  the  distribution  of  our 
patronage,  if  we  should  win,  which  was  cer 
tain;  and  finally  he  got  up  reluctantly  and  de 
clared  that  as  he  had  private  business  of  a  press 
ing  nature  he  could  not  possibly  stay  longer. 
So  he  was  gone.  And  now  what  were  the  prob 
lems  that  I  desired  to  study  ?  I  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  halting  at  times  to  glance  at  a 
book  or  newspaper,  but  more  often  to  look  out 
upon  the  Alamo.  But  why  did  I  within  less 
than  thirty  minutes  three  times  glance  at  my 
watch  ?  I  was  impatient  of  the  day's  limp  and 
halt,  the  lagging  of  the  swollen  hours. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AT  THE  DOCTOR'S  HOUSE. 

The  doctor  was  prompt  and  I  drove  out  with 
him,  listening,  or  pretending  to  listen,  to  his 
mincing  talk;  and  looking  ahead  through  the 
gathering  dusk  I  would  pick  out  here  and  there 
a  house  at  which  he  surely  must  stop.  But 
suddenly  he  turned  a  corner  and  drew  up  in 
front  of  a  handsome  wooden  house  with  broad 
veranda.  The  lamps  had  not  been  lighted,  and 
out  of  the  darkness  within  came  floating  the 
subdued,  meditative  notes  of  a  piano,  those  ten 
der  touches  which  live  in  the  memory  of  us  all. 
As  we  passed  through  the  gate  the  music 
ceased,  and  then  in  the  room  whence  it  had 
come  there  was  a  sudden  leap  of  light.  I  shook 
hands  with  Miss  Acklin,  with  her  mother,  with 

the  doctor's  wife;  and  we  sat  down,  talking, 
64 


AT  THE  DOCTOR'S  HOUSE.       65 

everyone  at  ease.  And  after  a  time  Miss  Za- 
leme  and  I  were  alone.  How  black  was  her  hair, 
midnight  spun  fine;  and  how  shapely  was  her 
neck;  and  how  sweet  was  the  perfume  she 
used.  And  I  wondered  what  it  could  be  until 
with  a  thrill  I  knew  that  it  was  no  perfume  at 
all,  but  simply  her.  A  man  thinks  he  must 
talk  books  to  a  woman,  run  over  titles,  with  a 
word  or  two  of  comment  upon  a  poem  or  a  char 
acter  here  and  there.  And  how  often  have  we 
seen  an  old  fellow  striving  to  dust  the  shelf  of 
his  memory,  put  to  for  some  new  title  or 
author?  But  I  soon  found  that  she  did  not 
care  to  talk  about  books.  She  wanted  to  talk 
about  her  father,  and  she  called  him  "dad," 
and  if  she  should  ever  meet  a  man  whom  she 
liked  better  she  would  marry  him,  but  that  was 
not  likely  to  be.  Information  that  he  was  a 
"crank"  was  freely  given,  a  "crank"  on  diet. 
He  had  a  farm  near  Bowling  Green,  Ky.,  and 
after  selling  cattle  and  hogs  for  years  was  con 
vinced  that  meat  was  not  intended  to  be  eaten. 
"But  it  was  intended  to  be  sold,"  she  said,  smil- 


66  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ing.  "Dad  argues  that  if  people  are  determined 
to  kill  themselves  by  eating  meat  they  ought  to 
kill  themselves  with  the  best."  He  must  have 
been  a  very  interesting  old  gentleman,  and  I 
asked  many  questions  concerning  him,  all  of 
which  she  answered  pleasingly.  Was  she  then 
not  a  thoughtful  woman  but  a  fond  child,  de 
lighted  to  hear  herself  talk  of  an  indulgent 
father  ?  No ;  she  could  rise  above  the  pettiness 
of  wanting  to  be  petted.  She  had  read.  Even 
in  her  most  careless  talk  I  could  see  the  smooth 
ing  effect  of  cultivation.  And  though  she  might 
keep  upon  one  subject  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  was  constantly  changing.  It  may 
be  the  most  idiotic  of  fancies,  but  I  have 
thought  that  when  a  woman  realizes  that  she 
has  been  talking  random  nonsense  she  acknowl 
edges  it  with  a  short  sigh.  Away  back  yonder 
somewhere  was  a  woman  who  impressed  this 
upon  me;  and  she  may  no  more  have  repre 
sented  her  sex  than  a  totem  pole  represents  the 
Christian  religion.  But  I  have  always  remem 
bered  that  short  sigh  as  following  nonsense  and 


AT  THE  DOCTOR'S  HOUSE.       67 

preceding  seriousness.  Had  Miss  Acklin  re 
minded  me  of  that  woman  away  back  yonder? 

"It  is  so  natural  to  think  of  being  elected," 
she  said.  "But  have  you  thought  of  being  de 
feated?"  She  was  sitting  in  a  rocking  chair, 
with  her  hands  stretched  forth  upon  the  arms. 

"Yes,  late  at  night  when  thoughts  are  most 
likely  to  be  true." 

"I  wonder  if  thoughts  are  most  likely  to  be 
true  then  ?"  She  looked  straight  into  my  eyes 
as  if  really  she  were  wondering. 

"I  can't  speak  for  others;  but  as  for  myself 
tne  best  thoughts  come  when  I  awake  at  mid 
night,  and  the  best  thoughts  ought  to  be  the 
truest." 

"And  is  the  midnight  tear  the  truest?"  I 
caught  her  eye — or  she  frankly  gave  it  to  me. 

"All  tears  are  true,"  I  answered.  "We  may 
force  a  laugh,  but  it  is  hard  to  force  a  tear." 

"The  stars  seem  nearer  when  we  look 
through  tears." 

"Ah,  when  we  look  through  the  tears  of  re 
pentance,  for  then  heaven  is  closer." 


68  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

If  there  had  been  mists  about  her  they  were 
gone  now.  And  I  saw  her  as  we  see  an  object 
in  an  atmosphere,  pure  and  clear,  after  a  rain. 
Some  one  opened  an  outer  door  and  it  stirred 
the  perfume  of  her,  and  my  nostrils  were  filled 
with  it,  and  I  breathed  it  as  a  pagan  might 
have  breathed  the  incense  to  his  god. 

Any  one  might  be  proud  to  represent  such 
an  empire  as  Texas,"  she  said,  and  then 
thoughtfully  she  added :  "The  world  doesn't 
know  what  this  State  is.  It  is  a  great  civiliza 
tion  within  itself.  And  its  fathers  were  the 
bravest  of  the  modern  world." 

"Yes,  and  the  Alamo  will  always "     I 

looked  at  her  and  did  not  complete  the  sentence. 
Her  expression  had  changed  suddenly,  as  if  a 
light  had  been  turned  down.  "One  would  think 
that  you  have  a  strange  memory  of  the  Alamo," 
said  I.  And  she  started  and  stared  at  me.  "I 
beg  your  pardon  if  I  have " 

"Oh,  please  don't.  Let  it  pass.  You  haven't 
heard  the  Rev.  Mr.  Curry,  have  you?" 

"No,  I  have  simply  heard  of  him." 


AT  THE  DOCTOR'S  HOUSE.       69 

"Then  in  my  opinion  you  have  something  to 
look  forward  to.  He  is  almost  a  revelation." 

I  could  have  asked  her  if  the  Rev.  Mr.  Curry 
had  heard  me — that  I  might  be  a  revelation 
to  him.  "A  very  young  preacher,  isn't  he?" 

"As  a  preacher,  yes,  but  as  a  man  he  is  no 
stripling.  He  has  a  wonderful  command  of 
language,  and  his  figures  are  beautiful." 

"The  pulpit,  as  a  monument  to  emotion,  ad 
mits  of  figures  that  might  not  be  tolerated  on 
the  platform.  I  don't  think  that  pulpit  oratory 
is  the  best.  It  addresses  an  audience  that  is 
already  convinced;  it  has  no  jury  to  win.  If  I 
did  not  hesitate  to  be  profane  I  might  say  that 
the  pulpit  orator  addresses  faith,  and  faith  may 
have  an  eye  so  clear  as  to  see  things  which  do 
not  exist.  Higher  oratory  must  conquer  the 
material." 

"But  Mr.  Curry  is  very  liberal,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  that  may  be  and  not  particularly  alter 
the  general  truth  of  what  I  affirm.  A  preacher 
may  be  liberal  for  a  preacher;  and  yet  among 
laymen  he  would  be  regarded  as  singularly 
narrow." 


70  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"You  wouldn't  argue  against  the  truth  of 
revealed " 

"Oh,  no."  The  fact  is  I  was  simply  annoyed 
with  that  man  Curry.  I  knew  that  he  must  be 
a  pretender,  for  what  is  easier  than  for  a 
preacher  to  study  some  old  sermon  and  pass  it 
off  as  his  own?  Texts  do  not  grow  old,  and 
with  the  church  the  fire  of  centuries  ago  is  the 
fire  of  today.  But  this  did  not  console  me. 
What  I  wanted  to  settle  in  my  mind  was,  why 
should  this  fellow  Curry  go  about  the  country, 
passing  himself  off  as  an  eloquent  man?  And 
how  strange  it  was,  too,  that  this  woman  should 
know  so  little  as  to  be  imposed  upon? 

"There  must  be  a  sort  of  kinship  between 
you  and  Mr.  Curry,"  she  said,  and  the  lack  of 
humor  in  her  eyes  told  me  that  she  was  in  ear 
nest.  I  managed  to  say  "Yes"  and  she  added : 
"The  afrinity  of  aspiration,  if  I  may  be  per 
mitted  the  expression.  It  is  not  yet  formally 
announced,  but  he  is  to  be  a  candidate  for  chap 
lain  of  the  Texas  house  of  representatives." 

"The  affinity  of  aspiration,"  I  mused.  The 
sting  of  comparison !  Not  that  I  would  make 


AT  THE  DOCTOR'S  HOUSE.       71 

little  of  the  position  to  which  he  aspired ;  but — 
the  fact  is,  I  couldn't  see  any  possible  com 
parison.  I  must  have  given  her  a  rebuking 
look,  for  she  blushed,  and  old  Green's  verse, 
like  a  vine  in  bloom,  was  trailed  before  me — 
"Her  cheeks  like  ripened  lilies  steeped  in  wine." 
I  forgot  the  preacher.  No,  I  did  not  forget 
him.  I  said  that  I  hoped  he  might  be  elected, 
and  I  said  it  blithely,  though  I  knew  I  lied.  My 
physical  strength  was  often  remarked,  and  I 
must  have  undergone  some  peculiar  nerve  strain 
thus  at  times  to  feel  such  irritation. 

I  asked  her  to  play  something  that  had  been 
forgotten  by  the  world,  and  softly  she  rippled 
a  tune  that  lies  sweet  in  the  memory  of 
many  a  man  of  middle  age.  When  the  music 
ceased  I  did  not  ask  for  more.  I  wanted  to 
think,  and  she  came  back  to  the  rocking  chair 
and  sat  down,  with  her  hands  stretched  forth 
upon  the  arms.  She  was  thoughtful  for  a  time, 
and  then  she  said :  "How  many  an  old  song 
and  forgotten  poem  shall  leap  back  to  life  when 
the  trumpet  blows  on  the  morning  of  senti 
ment's  resurrection.  Oh,  how  foolish  that  is," 


72  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

she  cried,  and  then  she  laughed  until  I  was 
impatient  of  her  merriment.  For  the  first  time 
since  I  entered  the  house  I  heard  a  clock  strike, 
and  now  the  last  stroke  startled  me.  It  was 
midnight.  There  was  a  brief  lingering  at  the 
door.  It  would  be  difficult  to  recall  what  I  said. 
I  may  have  told  her  to  tell  Mr.  Curry  that  I 
would  do  all  within  the  scope  of  my  influence 
to  further  his  election.  I  took  her  hand,  and 
I  remember  the  heaviness  of  the  realization 
that  she  was  slowly  drawing  it^away  from  me. 
I  went  forth  from  the  yard  and  in  the  street  I 
sniffed  from  some  distant  garden  the  scent  of 
the  early  blossom,  but  it  was  not  so  sweet,  nor 
was  it  half  so  thrilling  as  the  redolence  shut  in 
by  the  door  where  I  had  stood — the  perfume 
of  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   PRESUMPTUOUS   PAPER. 

By  appointment  I  went  next  morning  to  a 
town  fifty  miles  from  San  Antonio,  and  there 
the  adherents  of  my  cause  gathered  about  me 
to  assure  me  of  their  fidelity  and  of  my  elec 
tion.  I  spoke  in  the  courthouse,  and  the  audi 
ence  was  enthusiastic ;  I  talked  in  the  hotel,  and 
my  listeners  seemed  to  be  profoundly  impressed. 
"Where  are  you  going  from  here?"  a  friend 
inquired  of  me,  and  I  answered  that  arrange 
ments  had  been  made  for  my  appearance  the 
next  day  at  a  county  seat  sixty  miles  distant. 
But  I  returned  to  San  Antonio  early  the  next 
morning. 

The  hotel  clerk  handed  me  a  letter.  Glan 
cing  at  it  I  recognized  the  handwriting  of  old 
73 


74  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

Sam  Hall.  Why  had  he  addressed  me  at  San 
Antonio?  He  knew  that  I  had  completed  my 
work  in  the  city  and  had  departed.  I  tore  open 
the  envelope  and  read  these  words :  "I  know 
where  to  direct  my  letter,  as  I  see  that  you  are 
in  love  with  Miss  Acklin."  That  was  as  far  as 
I  read.  I  tore  up  the  presumptuous  paper  and 
threw  it  away.  What,  the  old  fool !  Now  I 
admire  the  God-given  faculty  of  intuition,  and 
I  have  even  a  respect  for  close  guessing,  but 
blunt  assertion  angers  me.  But  Sam,  poor  fel 
low,  was  hardly  to  be  blamed.  A  woman  had 
set  her  foot  upon  his  heart,  and  the  crushing 
was  none  the  less  complete  because  the  foot 
was  graceful.  But  what  possible  cause  had  he 
to  say  that  I  was  in  love  with  Miss  Acklin? 
Why,  hang  him,  in  my  letter  I  had  merely 
mentioned  her  name. 

While  I  was  walking  up  and  down,  mutter 
ing  against  Sam  Hall,  Quailes  joined  me,  and 
he  did  not  seem  surprised  to  see  me,  though  at 
parting  I  remarked  that  as  there  were  numer 
ous  places  to  be  visited  a  long  time  must  elapse 
before  my  return. 


A   PRESUMPTUOUS   PAPER.      75 

"I've  got  some  good  news,"  said  he.  "My 
girl's  mother  has  given  in — your  letter  did  it; 
and  if  you  are  defeated  the  old  lady  will  feel 
that  I  took  an  advantage  of  her.  So  I  want 
you  to  do  everything  you  can  for  yourself.  But 
you're  all  right.  You  don't  forget  your  dig 
nity.  It  won't  do  to  be  too  familiar,  you 
know." 

Dignity?  I  had  not  thought  of  it,  and  I 
told  him  so,  and  with  shrewdness  he  replied : 
"Well,  dignity  is  most  effective  when  you  for 
get  you've  got  it  with  you.  But,  as  you  know, 
even  in  this  democracy,  a  man  who  would  lead 
must " 

"Follow,"  I  suggested,  and  he  laughed. 

"That's  right.  I've  been  secretary  of  more 
political  pow-wows  than  any  man  in  the  State, 
and  I  know  what's  what.  Excuse  me  a  mo 
ment."  A  man  came  along  and  Quailes,  step 
ping  out,  presented  his  card.  "I  beg  your 
pardon,"  said  the  reporter,  "but  I  wish  to  say 
something  that  may  be  of  interest  to  you.  I 
have  seen  you  several  times,  have  heard  you 
preach,  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  had  the 


76  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

pleasure  of  speaking  to  you.  My  card  tells  you 
what  business  I  am  in,  but  it  does  not  tell  you 
that  I  am  the  best  in  the  State.  But  what  I 
wanted  to  say  to  you  is  this :  whenever  you've 
got  anything  that  the  people  want  to  know  you 
tell  me  and  I  will  serve  it  warm  and  palatable. 
Mr.  Curry,  have  you  met  Mr.  Howardson?" 

It  seemed  that  a  fog  suddenly  cleared  from 
the  man  as  he  stood  before  me,  as  with  a  bow 
and  a  smile,  white  and  gleaming,  he  held  forth 
his  hand.  The  well-kept  air  of  the  preacher 
was  prominent,  the  evidence  of  health,  the  re 
ward  of  constant  care ;  and  when  he  spoke  there 
was  in  his  voice  the  soft  tone  of  cultivated 
solicitude.  He  was  glad  to  see  that  I  was  strong 
enough  to  endure  the  physical  fatigue  and 
the  mental  worry  of  a  campaign.  It  had  not 
been  his  good  fortune  to  hear  my  speech,  but  he 
had  heard  of  it  and  he  was  pleased  to  assure 
me  that  my  principles  were  his  own.  He  shook 
hands  again,  bowed  and  passed  on ;  and  Quailes, 
looking  after  him,  remarked :  "There's  about 
as  eloquent  a  guy  as  you  ever  saw." 


A  PRESUMPTUOUS  PAPER       77 

"The  rhetoric  of  the  school  I  should  think," 
said  I.  "Scarcely  a  heart-flow." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that 
exactly,  but  he's  a  talker  from  away  back.  But 
he's  rather  cool,  that's  a  fact.  He  talks  to  the 
head,  while  you  have  a  way  of  talking  into  a 
man's  breast,  and  I  guess  you  must  feel  it  your 
self.  Let's  sit  down." 

I  felt  that  I  was  overstaying  my  time  in  the 
town,  that  justice  to  my  own  cause  demanded 
that  I  should  go  elsewhere;  but  what  once  had 
been  so  clear  a  duty  was  obscure  now,  and  I 
found  weariness  in  contemplating  it.  Several 
men  came  forward  and  sat  down,  Haney  and 
Hotze  among  them.  Hotze  had  heard  that  my 
opponents  were  hot  and  strong  in  the  harvest, 
working  day  and  night.  Haney  remarked  that 
in  fighting  so  hard  they  might  offset  each  other, 
might  beat  themselves,  a  view  which  so  im 
pressed  Hotze  that  he  shook  hands  with  Haney 
and  then  with  me.  "I  think  you  are  wise  in 
staying  about  here,"  said  he.  "Take  care  of 
the  most  important  places  and  the  others  will 
take  care  of  themselves."  I  soon  grew  tired 


78  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

of  the  talk,  and  turning  from  it  heard  only  a 
distant  hum,  till  Haney  put  his  hand  on  my 
arm  and  asked  me  how  long  I  expected  to  re 
main. 

"Only  a  short  time.  I  am  going  back  to 
Riplar  within  a  few  days,  and  then  I  shall  make 
a  systematic  canvass  of  the  State." 

"When  you  go  back  give  old  Sam  Hall  my 
regards.  Smart  man,  Sam;  got  as  much  of 
this  old  world's  wisdom  as  most  any  man  I 
ever  met.  He's  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  but 
he  has  stood  it  like  a  man." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that  he  has  so  much 
trouble,"  said  I.  "He  has  been  reasonably 
prosperous — lucky,  you  might  say — and  man, 
supposed  to  be  a  reasoning  creature,  ought  not 
to  ask  for  more." 

"Why,  I  have  understood  and  from  him,  too, 
that  his  prospects  in  this  life  and  all  concern 
regarding  the  future  were " 

"Yes,"  I  broke  in  with  a  show  of  good 
humor  which  I  did  not  feel.  "You  are  going 
to  say  something  about  a  woman.  He  is  too 
strong  a  man  to  believe  any  such  nonsense,  and 


A  PRESUMPTUOUS  PAPER.      79 

he  ought  not  to  say  that  he  does.  The  world  is 
too  old  and  man  is  too  full  of  practical  sense 
to  be  blasted  in  so  sentimental  a  way.  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  sentiment,  of  course,  and  once 
in  a  while  we  see  a  weakling  losing  his  interest 
in  life  out  of  disappointment  of  the — the  heart, 
let  us  call  it — but  man  in  general  is  too  strong 
for  that  sort  of  nonsense." 

"That's  where  you  hit  the  nail  on  the  head/' 
Hotze  declared,  and  somehow  I  felt  angered 
with  him  for  agreeing  with  me.  It  did  not  seem 
apparent  to  me  that  he  should  know  anything 
on  the  subject.  He  was  too  much  of  an  animal, 
too  oozing  of  oil  to  hold  sentiment.  Not  leav 
ing  off  with  a  simple  agreement  with  me,  he 
proceeded  to  illustrate.  "I  could  have  gone 
around  sighing  over  a  woman — and  she  was  a 
peach  at  that — thought  she  belonged  to  me,  but 
Hip,  and  away  she  went.  And  I  said,  'If  that's 
the  plan  of  your  campaign,  good-day/  And  as 
fast  as  she  would  pop  back  into  my  head  I'd 
put  her  out — the  only  way  to  do  'em,  put  'em 
out  when  they  pop  in." 

"It's  easy  enough  for  men  who've  not  had 


80  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

real  experience  to  talk  glibly,"  said  Quailes. 
"And  the  less  experience  they've  had  the  more 
glibly  they  can  talk,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
a  woman  gone  back  on  you  is  a  hell  on  earth. 
You  may  talk  of  putting  her  out  of  your  head, 
but  you  can't  put  her  out  of  your  heart,  and 
that's  where  the  trouble  is.  I  happen  to  know." 
I  had  respect  for  what  Quailes  said,  for  had 
he  not  told  me  of  his  disappointment  when  they 
kept  him  from  killing  himself — because  of  a 
woman?  He  had  a  right  to  speak,  but  I  cared 
nothing  for  what  the  others  said  or  thought. 
And  during  all  this  time  I  was  attempting  to 
devise  some  polite  means  of  escape,  but  finding 
at  last  that  it  must  be  done  bluntly,  I  went  out. 
There  was  a  dreamy,  spring-time  drizzle  of 
rain,  such  as  makes  the  Spanish  dagger  open 
wide  its  thirsty  lips  and  drink  and  give  to  the 
curious  and  attentive  a  glimpse  of  its  coming 
bloom,  hidden  in  its  bosom.  The  Alamo,  dis 
tant  only  a  few  rods,  was  in  the  mist  gloomily 
majestic,  its  sides  steaming,  one  well  could 
fancy,  as  if  it  had  run  hot  from  antiquity  and 
leaped  into  the  midst  of  the  cool  and  calculating 


A  PRESUMPTUOUS   PAPER.     81 

present.  But  I  laughed  at  a  thought  so  foolish 
and  so  idly  wanton,  and  I  smiled  to  surmise 
what  the  staid  voter  might  think  if  he  should 
suspect  me  of  such  frivolity. 

At  the  great  door  I  stood  for  a  moment,  and 
suddenly  my  heart  was  tightly  gripped  and 
ceased  to  beat,  and  all  before  me  were  a  daz 
zling  of  light  and  a  flitting  of  shadows.  But 
soon  I  was  calm,  and  walking  into  the  chapel  I 
said  "good  morning"  to  her,  as  sweetly  she 
smiled  upon  me.  She  said  that  it  was  a  charm 
ing  day,  and  it  was,  with  the  air  so  soft 
and  the  mist  so  full  of  dreams.  What 
thoughtful  solemnity  she  found  in  the  old  place 
on  a  rainy  day,  and  she  always  came  to  see 
new  tears  run  down  its  ancient  wrinkles,  she 
said.  I  looked  about  for  her  mother,  but  she 
was  not  there. 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  in  the  country," 
she  said,  as  if  suddenly  remembering  that  I  had 
been  away. 

"I  went  to  the  country,  but  was  called  back 
here." 


82  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"And  how  long  do  you  expect  to  remain  this 
time?" 

"Not  long.  Business  will  soon  call  me  to 
Riplar." 

"Oh,  soon,  I  hope.  Mother  and  I  are  going 
day  after  tomorrow." 

"I  may  go  tomorrow." 

"Can't  you  remain  a  day  longer  and  go  with 
us?" 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

With  her  umbrella  she  was  marking  upon 
the  ground.  Visitors  were  passing  in  and  out. 
I  paid  no  attention  to  them,  and  I  was  pleased 
to  think  that  she  did  not. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  Mexican  ?"  she  asked.  And 
before  I  could  answer  that  not  in  my  opinion 
had  a  Mexican  received  such  favor  of  the  gods, 
she  continued:  "But  I'd  rather  be  called  a 
Mexican  than  to  be  called  queer.  My  friends 
often  call  me  queer,  and  it  makes  me  furious. 
What  are  you  thinking  about  so  intently?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  I  said,  but  I  was  wondering 
whether  any  one  could  have  taken  Homer's 
stag-eyed  queen  of  heaven  for  a  "greaser." 


A   PRESUMPTUOUS    PAPER.     83 

"And  if  you  can  think  so  deeply  and  forget 
fully  of  nothing,  how  must  you  manage  your 
mind  when  you  think  of  something?" 

We  walked  down  toward  the  end  of  the 
chapel,  I  on  the  right,  next  to  the  door  of  the 
room  in  which  her  shrine  seemed  to  be,  and  in 
passing  the  door  I  took  care  to  divert  her 
attention.  Beneath  a  window  where  the  misty 
light  was  falling,  we  halted;  and  I  know  not 
how  the  subject  came  about  or  how  gently  it 
was  led  to,  but  I  know  that  we  talked  of  men 
and  women  who  had  loved.  "None  but  a  des 
perate  love  is  worth  considering,"  she  said, 
and  even  now  she  did  not  withdraw  her  eyes, 
but  looked  at  me  frankly.  "I  would  like  to 
think  of  my  hero  as  being  unable  to  live  if  he 
thought  I  didn't  love  him.  I  would  want  it 
to  break  his  heart  in  an  instant." 

"You  surely  wouldn't  want  to  kill  him?" 

"Of  course  not.  But,  as  I  said,  I  would  want 
him  to  die  if  he  knew  that  I  didn't  love  him. 
But  my  dad  says  that  no  man  can  ever  love  me 
as  much  as  I  want  to  be  loved.  And  no  man 
would  want  to  love  me  if  he  knew  how  jealous 


84  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  am;  for  I  would  not  only  be  jealous  of  other 
women,  but  of  inanimate  things.  I  remember 
after  hearing  a  great  pianist  I  thought  of  how 
miserable  I  would  be  if  I  were  his  wife — jealous 
of  the  piano." 

"But  would  you  give  as  much  love  as  you 
demand?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  capable  of  it.  I  have  pictured 
a  life  full  of  a  sort  of  delirium ;  but  they  tell  me 
that  such  a  life  could  not  last  long.  It  would  be 
a  heaven,  though,  while  it  did  last,  and  a  year 
of  bliss  is  worth  more  than  a  century  of  mere 
contentment.  My  dad  says  that  I  get  such  ideas 
from  foolish  books,  and  perhaps  I  do,  but  they 
seem  to  come  up  in  my  breast  like  beads  rising 
in  wine.  But  of  course  I  never  expect  to  realize 
such  a  love,  for  after  all  it  is  not  for  this  life. 
I  should  think  that  you  would  have  married 
before  this,  Mr.  Howardson?" 

"And  I  suppose  the  reason  is  that  I  looked 
for  bliss  instead  of  mere  contentment,"  I  re 
plied;  and  she  regarded  my  answer  as  of  no 
moment,  simply  as  a  matter  of  course.  And  in 
this  she  disappointed  me,  Why  did  she  so  con- 


A  PRESUMPTUOUS   PAPER.     -8$ 

stantly  fail  to  show  appreciation?  Surely  a 
woman  is  a  disease  unto  a  man,  with  symptoms 
baffling  to  all  previous  diagnosis.  This  woman 
was  beginning  to  oppress  me  and  I  wanted  to 
be  away  from  her ;  but  when  I  thought  of  going 
I  faltered,  for  in  her  presence  I  was  not  strong. 
And  yet  I  did  not  love  her.  It  was  a  sort  of 
nervous  fever.  Then  was  she  not  to  me  a  sort 
of  disease?  I  looked  at  her  and  repented  of  all 
the  idle  fancies  which  I  have  here  set  down. 
How  full  of  sympathy  those  eyes  could  become, 
and  how  happy  a  man  must  be  to  know  that 
they  had  wept  for  him.  I  wondered  if  that  sigh 
was  for  me.  Outside  the  wind  was  sweetly 
lisping. 

"When  the  wind  blows  how  sad  is  the  music 
here,"  she  said,  looking  at  me,  for  she,  too,  was 
listening  to  the  lisping  air. 

"But  if  it  were  not  sad  you  would  not  re 
member  it." 

"That  is  true,"  she  agreed.  "A  memory  can 
be  so  sweet  that  is  sad." 

"Yes,  and  in  our  keenest  joys  we  weep." 

She  smiled.    "Now  I  feel  that  we  are  on  the 


86  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

stage.  But  I  rather  like  it.  I  think  that  once 
in  a  while  it  is  well  to  feel  that  we  are  not 
utterly  commonplace.  We  might  invite  the 
charge  of  unnaturalness,  but  that  is  nonsense. 
More  than  half  our  criticisms  are  absurd.  Why 
should  I  presume  to  criticise  something  in  an 
atmosphere  wholly  different  from  mine?" 

I  did  not  encourage  her  in  this  view;  I  did 
not  care  to  be  stagy  if  I  could  help  it,  and  her 
opinions  on  the  subject  were  of  no  interest.  To 
tell  the  truth  I  do  not  know  what  I  wanted  her 
to  say. 

We  walked  slowly  toward  the  front  door.  I 
was  on  the  point  of  asking  her  to  permit  me  to 
take  her  home  in  a  carriage  when  she  remarked 
that  the  doctor  was  going  to  call  for  her;  and 
very  soon  we  saw  him  coming.  He  halted  to 
talk  to  some  one. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  Riplar,"  said  I. 
"Out  there  we  have  oak  woods.  Do  you  like  to 
roam  in  the  woods — with  some  one  who  is  con 
siderate  enough  to  let  you  think?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  giving  me  her  hand,  for 
the  doctor's  buggy  had  driven  up  for  her. 


A   PRESUMPTUOUS   PAPER.      87 

"And,"  she  added,  with  a  smile,  "I  will  be 
gracious,  too;  I  will  let  you  think.  Good-bye." 
Her  hand  gleamed  for  a  moment  in  the  air,  a 
ring  flashed,  and  I  stood  gazing,  not  knowing 
which  way  to  turn. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BEAUTIFUL  AND  DREARY. 

I  took  train  for  Riplar  the  next  morning,  and 
how  easy  it  was  to  go;  how  manfully  had  I 
overcome  the  temptation  to  remain  one  day 
longer.  It  was  past  midnight  when  I  reached 
the  town.  Not  wishing  to  alarm  the  tavern 
wherein  I  was  wont  to  make  my  home,  I  went 
to  the  office  and  lay  upon  a  couch,  and  half 
dozing,  I  saw  a  purple  mist  floating  through 
my  mind,  and  in  the  mist  was  a  face  that  shone 
like  a  star.  Through  the  window  the  sun  had 
long  been  blazing  upon  me  when  I  awoke. 
What  was  it  I  dreaded  ?  To  meet  Sam  ?  Yes, 
a  Calchas  delighting  to  augur  ill. 

At  the  postoffice  there  were  numerous  letters 
waiting  for  me;  letters  from  earnest  men 


BEAUTIFUL  AND  DREARY.       89 

throughout  the  State,  assuring  me  of  their  sup 
port,  and  that  something  which  at  times  is 
pleased  to  whisper  to  us  all  assured  me  that  I 
should  win  the  fight.  A  newspaper  printed  in 
a  distant  place  threw  a  criticism  at  me  for  ob 
scurity.  "Of  course  he  has  served  in  Con 
gress,  but  that  does  not  make  him  sufficiently 
well  known  to  aspire  to  the  Senate."  I  could 
have  told  this  fellow  that  some  of  my  speeches 
had  been  commented  upon  throughout  the 
country,  east  and  west,  but  he  was  looking  for 
a  fault  and  found  it.  But  of  what  avail  were 
such  airy  carpings?  His  paper  was  printed  in 
a  village  obscured  in  a  gulch  country  seven 
hundred  miles  from  the  State  capital. 

As  I  was  thus  musing  in  the  office,  old  Sarn 
came  in  with  his  sad  smile.  We  shook  hands 
without  saying  anything,  and  I  was  afraid  of 
his  first  words,  but  I  should  not  have  been, 
for  with  conviction  in  his  tone  he  remarked : 

"Lucian,  it  begins  to  look  as  if  you  are  going 
to  be  elected." 

"Thank  you,  old  man.    That  does  me  more 


90  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

good  than  everything  else  I've  heard.  But 
upon  what  do  you  base  your  belief?" 

"Upon  the  fact  that  you  have  no  machine 
behind  you — the  people  are  sick  of  political 
machinery.  Make  no  bad  breaks  and  you're 
all  right.  But  why  do  you  come  back  here  at 
this  time?" 

"Because  I  have  discovered  that  much  can 
be  accomplished  by  correspondence,  and  I 
wanted  to  write  here,  undisturbed.  A  candi 
date  at  home  may  belong  to  himself,  but  away 
from  home  he  is  the  property  of  every  man." 

But  why  did  he  sit  there  with  his  hands 
clasped  about  one  knee,  smiling  at  me  as  if  a 
new  humor  were  bubbling  within  him  ? 

"Didn't  you  say  that  the  Acklins  were  com 
ing  out  here  to  visit  old  man  Carson?"  he 
asked,  his  smile  gradually  fading  like  a  wan 
light. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  can  credit  me  with  hav 
ing  given  that  information." 

"But  why  do  you  quibble?  Why  don't  you 
simply  say  yes?" 

"I  did  say  yes," 


BEAUTIFUL  AND  DREARY.      91 

"Not  without  a  beating  of  the  bush.  When 
are  they  coming?" 

"Well,  by  persistent  inquiry  I  suppose  I  could 
find  out,  but " 

"Yes,  and  I  am  going  to  find  out  by  persist 
ent  inquiry.  When  are  they  coming?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Oh,  before  you'll  have  time  to  write  many 
of  your  letters.  But  if  she  comes  perhaps  you 
won't  need  to  write  so  many." 

"Sam,  I  must  make  a  request  of  you — not  to 
torment  me.  You  see  me  in  the  midst  of  a  host 
of  campaign  worries  and  you  have  taken  it 
into  that  hard  head  of  yours  that  I  am  in  love. 
But  you  ought  to  know  that  when  I  told 
Viola  Morgan  good-bye,  I  bade  farewell  to 
woman  in  general." 

"You  didn't  love  Viola  Morgan." 

"Perhaps  I  didn't  in  your  way,  but  I  did  in 


mine." 


"But,  Lucian,  a  man  of  your  nature  must 
sooner  or  later  love  as  I  did.  Such  a  nature  is 
the  prospectus  of  the  book  to  come.  And  I 


92  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

have  been  dreading  it  for  you,   for,  as  you 
know,  I  am  close-hooked  to  you." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  Sam,  and  when  the  book 
follows  the  prospectus  I  will  enlighten  you." 
"What  fights  harder  against  itself  and 
against  fate  than  such  a  nature?  And  how 
secret  it  is,  attempting  to  steal  from  itself  and 
lying  persistently!  Ah,  my  friend,  the  awful 
passion  does  not  mean  a  beautiful  nor  even  a 
chaste  woman,  a  truth  attested  by  many  a  trag 
edy." 

From  his  pocketbook  he  took  a  photograph, 
one  which  often  I  had  seen,  of  a  plain  woman 
with  wide-open  eyes.  "Lucian,  the  moment  I 
first  saw  this  face  I  knew  that  hell  itself  had 
spewed  its  eternal  fire  into  my  soul.  There  was 
no  time  to  run,  to  dodge.  Tell  me  about  Miss 
Acklin.  What  is  her  Christian  name,  if  any 
thing  about  her  is  Christian?" 

"Oh,  let  me  think." 

"It  will  come  presently." 

"I  think — yes,  it  is  Zaleme." 

"A  good  name  to  dance  upon  the  mind  at 
midnight.  And  what  is  she  like?  Tall?" 


BEAUTIFUL  AND  DREARY.       93 

"If  she  were  willing  and  were  to  tiptoe  I 
could  kiss  her  without  stooping." 

"Good.    And  her  eyes?" 

"Stars  shining  through  jet." 

"Good  again.    And  her  hair  ?" 

"You  spoke  of  Viola  Morgan's  hair  as  shred 
ded  copper.  Zaleme's  hair  is  silken  ravelings 
from  the  darkest  chamber  of  the  Mammoth 
Cave." 

"A  description  which  may  mean  absolutely 
nothing,  Lucian,  but  which  to  me  is  minuter 
than  a  photograph.  And  now  all  I  have  to  say 
is,  God  pity  you." 

I  arose  early  the  next  morning  for  I  felt 
that  she  was  in  the  town.  The  blooming 
cherry-trees  poured  out  their  sweets  upon  the 
air.  A  nesting  oriole  flew  past  me  with  a  red 
ribbon  in  its  beak — a  strip  of  flame.  Music  al 
most  inaudible  came  from  afar. 

Carson  lived  nearly  a  mile  from  town  and 
for  exercise  I  strolled  out  in  that  direction. 
Many  a  time  and,  as  now,  in  early  spring  had 
I  taken  the  walk,  but  never  before  had  it  been 
so  full  of  pleasure  and  promise.  The  roadside 


94  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

was  bordered  by  sweet  grasses,  with  here  and 
there  a  white  blossom.  And  that  ill-kept,  un- 
painted  old  wooden  house,  always  a  dreary  re 
proach  to  winter  and  a  blotch  upon  the  face  of 
spring,  how  bright  it  looked  now,  as  if  within 
its  walls  it  held  a  glowing  joy. 

Old  man  Carson  was  planting  something  in 
his  garden  and  I  halted  at  the  fence  to  talk  a 
moment  and  then  to  return  to  town,  for  in  my 
office  there  were  affairs  that  demanded  prompt 
attention.  He  came  forward  ready  to  talk  and 
began  to  tell  me  of  the  trouble  he  had  experi 
enced  with  his  neighbor's  pigs.  And  for  ten 
minutes  or  more  I  talked  about  pigs.  He  asked 
me  how  my  campaign  was  progressing,  and  I 
assured  him  that  my  election  was  certain. 
"Have  just  returned  from  San  Antonio/'  said 
I,  and  I  expected  him  to  look  toward  the  house, 
but  he  did  not.  And  then  I  remarked :  "You 
have  relatives  in  that  city,  I  believe." 

Just  at  this  moment  he  found  a  hole  where 
a  pig  had  got  through  the  fence,  and  he  began 
to  stop  it  up  with  chunks  of  wood.  "Now 
here's  where  one  of  them  infernal  rascals  got 


BEAUTIFUL  AND  DREARY.       95 

in.  And  I'm  going  to  send  word  over  to  Jami 
son  that  if  he  don't  keep  them  out  he'll  hear  a 
dog  bark  and  a  hog  squeal." 

"I  was  in  San  Antonio  several  days." 
"As  sure  as  you  are  born — hear  a  dog  bark 
and  a  pig  squeal." 

"I  met  some  of  your  relatives  there." 
"That  so?  I  was  expecting  my  sister  and 
niece  this  morning,  but  they  didn't  come.  Well, 
I  reckon  that  ought  to  keep  them  out,"  he 
added,  surveying  his  work.  "Won't  you  come 
in,  sir?" 

I  thanked  him  and  I  told  him  no.  It  was  a 
barn-like  place  with  a  front  window  blind 
hanging  by  one  hinge,  and  in  a  corner  of  the 
yard  a  cow  was  distressfully  lowing.  I 
turned  back  toward  the  town,  and  the  cheer 
less  road  was  bordered  by  yellowish  grass,  set 
here  and  there  with  a  ghastly  flower.  The 
sunshine  lay  pale  upon  the  hillside,  and  a  dusty 
bird  flew  past  me.  I  halted  at  the  postoffice, 
and  among  my  letters  was  a  square,  cream- 
colored  envelope,  superscribed  in  violet  ink, 
postmarked  San  Antonio.  I  hastened  to  the 


96  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

office,  stealing  away  to  be  alone  with  it;  and 
there  I  sat  gazing  upon  my  name  in  her  writ 
ing,  and  the  room  was  filled  with  a  delicate 
perfume.  I  dreaded  to  open  the  envelope,  to 
read  the  cool  and  formal  words,  but  I  did 
soon  and  for  a  long  time  sat  gazing  at  the  brief 
message.  "I  am  so  sorry  we  could  not  come 
at  the  appointed  time,  a  delay  occasioned  by 
mother's  neuralgia.  But  we  hope  to  come 
within  a  few  days ;  and  then  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  have  you  conduct  me  to  those  marvelous 
woods  where  one  can  muse  without  interrup 
tion."  That  was  all,  but  it  was  a  whole  book 
to  me,  but  not  that  in  it  there  was  encourage 
ment.  What  encouragement?  What  did  I 
wish  for  or  expect  ?  She  had  shown  that  I  was 
not  forgotten,  and  that  was  enough.  Old  Sam 
found  me  gazing  at  the  note. 

"Lucian,  it  appears  that  you  are  receiving 
letters  instead  of  writing  them.  What,  is  it 
a  secret?"  Had  I,  with  the  impulse  of  uncon 
scious  secrecy,  attempted  to  hide  the  letter? 
But  I  handed  it  to  him,  and  reading  it  with 


BEAUTIFUL  AND  DREARY.      97 

his  peculiar  sharp  cornered  smile,  he  returned 
it  with  the  remark : 

"That  looks  all  right,  Lucian." 

"The  words  don't  say  much,  Sam." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  anything  at  all  for  the 
words.  I  mean  the  handwriting.  It  is  that 
of  a  stubborn  woman." 

"Stubborn?"  I  repeated. 

"Yes,  true  to  her  principles  and  herself.  The 
pliant  woman  may  be  sweet,  but  she  is  never 
true.  Enduring  love  itself  is  a  sort  of  pig- 
headedness." 

"I  thought  you  compared  it  with  blazing 
lava  from " 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  you  can  compare  it  with 
almost  anything.  I  suppose  I  mean  that  con 
stancy  is  a  sort  of  pig-headedness.  Yes,  that's 
what  I  meant,  not  love.  But  why  should  I 
attempt  to  philosophize  with  you.  You  are  yet 
whole,  while  I  am  but  the  part  of  a  man.  St. 
Simon,  speaking  of  a  prince  who  had  been 
poisoned,  said  that  his  heart  when  taken  up 
flowed  through  the  fingers  like  a  liquid.  I  was 
poisoned,  you  know,  and  my  heart  would  blow 
away  like  ashes." 

7 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   PURPLE  BANK. 

Poor  old  Sam!  Nothing  could  be  sincerer 
than  his  grief.  To  most  men  time  brings  the 
balm  of  forgetfulness,  or  at  least  it  lifts  up  a 
sorrow  and  lightens  it  for  the  bearer,  but  with 
him  there  was  not  even  a  shifting  of  his  gall 
ing  load.  He  had  withdrawn  from  the  general 
practice  of  the  law,  preferring  the  specialty  of 
real  estate,  but  had  consented  to  look  after  a 
number  of  cases  of  mine  which  had  lapped 
over  into  the  campaign;  and  he  did  it  with 
devotion.  When  I  spoke  of  the  settlement  of  a 
certain  case  he  said :  "Never  mind  about  set 
tling  with  me  for  anything.  Every  cent  you 
can  rake  and  scrape  will  be  needed  in  this  po 
litical  trouble  of  yours."  Surely  there  was 

a  glow  left  amid  the  ashes  of  his  heart. 
98 


THE    PURPLE    BANK.  99 

And  again  the  air  was  full  of  a  music  so 
still  it  could  scarcely  be  heard,  and  the  per 
fume  from  the  woods  was  sweetened  tenfold 
with  the  coming  of  another  sun,  for  I  knew 
that  she  was  there.  I  waited  till  the  afternoon, 
and  then  I  walked  out  toward  old  Carson's 
house;  and  afraid  to  find  him,  an  ill-omen  in 
the  garden,  a  scare-crow  of  hope,  I  kept  my 
eyes  averted,  but  at  last  I  looked  and  he  was 
not  there.  As  I  opened  the  gate  a  frisking 
puppy  and  an  old  dog  that  ran  sidewise  came 
to  meet  me,  and  an  old  woman  whom  I  took 
to  be  Mrs.  Carson  opened  a  door  leading  out 
upon  the  front  veranda.  It  was  Mrs.  Carson 
and  she  knew  me,  dear  old  soul,  and  invited 
me  to  a  seat  where  a  cool  breeze  was  stirring; 
and  she  brought  me  a  fan  and  said  she  would 
be  much  pleased  if  I  would  make  myself  at 
home.  And  out  came  Mrs.  Acklin.  She  gave 
me  a  dim  smile,  but  she  was  cordial  in  her 
manner  and  declared  that  seeing  me  was  like 
meeting  an  old  friend.  And  wasn't  I  an  old 
friend,  and  a  good  friend  at  that?  She  knew, 
she  said,  that  Zaleme  had  written  to  me,  and 


ioo  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

how  pleasant  it  was  to  know  that  some  one  was 
looking  forward  to  their  coming.  Zaleme  was 
running  wild,  she  was  so  glad  to  get  back  into 
the  country.  I  heard  no  footsteps,  no  swish 
of  skirt,  no  sound,  and  yet  I  knew  that  she  was 
coming.  She  came  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  in  her  hair  she  wore  a  red  bloom. 
At  the  steps  I  met  her,  and  took  her  hand, 
which  she  gladly  thrust  forth,  and  I  led  her  to 
a  chair,  wishing  that  the  way  were  a  league 
instead  of  a  few  steps.  The  old  ladies  imposed 
no  restraint,  for  there  were  no  confidences  to 
be  exchanged,  but  I  wished  that  they  would  go 
away.  They  talked  about  ancient  friends,  now 
dead,  of  women  whose  marriages  had  reached 
an  unfortunate  turn,  of  hopeless  cripples  in 
poverty-ridden  families.  Old  man  Carson 
came,  without  a  coat  and  with  his  shirt  sleeves 
rolled  far  up  about  his  brown  arms.  And  to 
make  me  feel  at  ease  he  began  to  talk  politics. 
He  knew  Apperson,  who  had,  while  in  Con 
gress,  sent  him  some  grass  seeds :  and  that  was 
a  strong  argument  in  his  favor.  Still,  local 
pride  must  of  necessity  impel  him  to  support 


THE    PURPLE    BANK.  iol 

me.  At  that  time  I  would  have  valued  his 
withdrawal  more  than  his  support.  The  girl 
had  come  with  a  bounding  spirit  and  plainly 
said:  "I  am  glad  to  be  here,"  but  he  had 
driven  it  away,  and  now  she  sat  with  a  shadow 
on  her  face. 

"Look  yonder,"  the  old  man  called  out.  "See 
that  horse  trying  to  nose  off  the  top  rail  of 
the  fence  so  he  can  jump  over  into  the  or 
chard." 

"He  wants  to  stand  under  the  tree  and  let 
the  blossoms  fall  on  him,"  said  Zaleme. 

"Well,  now,  if  he  don't  get  away,"  replied 
the  old  man,  "something  will  fall  on  him  and 
it  won't  be  a  blossom,  either.  That's  May- 
field's  horse,  ain't  it,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Carson  said  she  thought  that  it  must 
be  Thompson's.  Mayfield  had  several  sorrel 
horses,  but  not  one  with  a  white  nose. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "there  he  goes, 
and  it's  a  good  thing  for  him,  too.  Thompson's 
got  the  finest  farm  in  the  country  and  all  he 
needs  is  a  wife."  He  chuckled  at  Zaleme,  rub- 


102  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

bing  his  hairy  arm,  grinned  at  her  mother 
and  was  much  taken  with  himself. 

"An  old  bachelor?"  Zaleme  asked. 

"No,  widower." 

"His  wife  worked  herself  to  death,"  said 
Mrs.  Carson,  clearing  her  throat.  "It's  the 
truth  if  ever  one  was  told.  Thompson  is  a 
northern  man,  and  it  seems  that  no  matter  how 
well  off  a  Northern  farmer  is  he  lets  his  wife 
work.  I  told  her  one  day,  I  said,  'Great  good 
ness  alive,  you'll  kill  yourself.'  But  she  kept 
on,  and  sure  enough  she  died,  and  as  good  a 
soul,  too,  as  ever  lived.  And  now  he  is  looking 
for  another  wife." 

"Well,  he  needn't  look  at  a  daughter  of 
mine,"  said  Mrs.  Acklin.  "I  don't  care  how 
much  he's  worth." 

"No  one  needs  to  look  at  your  daughter, 
mother,  you  know  that,"  Zaleme  replied,  and 
a  hundred  fancies  began  to  buzz  in  my  head. 
"And  especially  a  man  who  has  permitted  his 
wife  to  work  herself  to  death,"  she  added. 
"Brother  has  taught  me  that  I  don't  want  to 
be  a  doctor's  wife,  and " 


THE    PURPLE    BANK.  103 

"How  about  a  lawyer?"  old  Carson  broke  in, 
with  a  wink  at  me. 

And  she  was  not  at  all  embarrassed  when 
she  said:  "Oh,  a  lawyer  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  He  would  be  wedded  to  his  clients  and 
would  forget  me.  And  a  preacher — well,  I 
wouldn't  like  to  be  compelled  to  take  every 
thing  that  women  would  give  me,  and  smile 
and  tell  them  how  thankful  I  was." 

"You've  got  the  list  pretty  well  cut  down," 
said  the  old  man.  "How  would  you  like  a 
man  whom  you  couldn't  see  too  much  of,  a 
traveling  drummer,  for  instance?" 

I  saw  her  catch  her  breath  quickly  and  meet 
a  look  from  her  mother's  eyes ;  and  the  fancies 
in  my  head  buzzed  louder,  like  bees  swarming. 
But  the  old  man  comprehended  nothing  and 
continued  to  talk:  "Getting  back  to  Thomp 
son,  why,  there's  no  better  man  anywhere  than 
he  is  and  that  talk  about  his  wife  killing  her 
self  with  work  is  all  the  palest  sort  of  moon 
shine.  Why,  she  had  a  horse  and  buggy — that 
horse,  I  think,  standing  out  yonder  just  now — 
and  could  drive  out  as  often  as  she  wanted  to, 


io4  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

but  of  course  the  women  of  the  neighborhood 
had  to  have  it  that  she  killed  herself.  I'm  go 
ing  to  ask  him  to  come  over  while  you're 
here." 

"Not  to  see  me,  uncle,  please.  I  know  very 
well  that  I  shouldn't  care  for  him."  And  then 
she  turned  and,  pointing,  said  to  me:  "I  sup 
pose  those  are  the  woods  you  told  me  about. 
Are  you  going  to  keep  your  promise?  I'm 
ready." 

And  so  was  I,  and  through  the  front  gate 
and  across  a  clover  field  we  went,  to  the  woods, 
greenish  with  opening  buds.  Spring  in  Texas 
is  a  mad  riot  of  wild  flowers,  defying  the  bot 
anist,  a  mob  of  struggling  color.  Giant  vio 
lets,  a  nameless  blossom  like  a  primrose  dip 
ped  in  blood,  shooting  the  astonished  eye  with 
a  pain;  buttercups  with  hanging  heads,  half 
asleep,  drooling  honey.  We  came  to  a  rivulet 
— and  a  rapturous  bank  blazing  like  a  varie 
gated  fire.  We  had  been  silent,  and  now  I 
spoke,  not  in  the  tone  of  common  sense,  but 
almost  in  a  shout: 


THE    PURPLE    BANK.  105 

"Let  us  sit  upon  this  bank  and  weep  our  wet  eyes  dry 

amid  the  scented  bloom, 
And  then  to  Heaven  our  faces  we  will  turn 
To  catch  the  dripping  dew  within  our  eyes: 
Then  back  to  bloom  and  weep  them  dry  again. 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "how  could  you  remem 
ber  that?  Do  men  read  such  foolish  things 
now-a-days;  was  that  from  one  of  the  old 
dramatists  ?" 

"From  one  of  the  very  oldest." 

"How  barbarous  and  free  they  were.  But 
how  true.  Man  wrote  best  before  man  began 
to  criticise.  The  fear  of  censure  often  kills  a 
truth." 

Was  this  the  pettish  woman  who  would 
rather  be  taken  for  a  Mexican  than  to  be  called 
queer?  Was  she  flesh  and  blood,  like  other 
women?  Was  she  not  at  times  a  sort  of  seer- 
ess?  The  soul  does  not  steadily  abide  within 
us,  but  wanders  hither  and  thither,  seeking 
rest;  and  when  it  returns  and  lights  this  lowly 
temple  for  a  time,  men  say  that  we  have  been 
inspired.' 

We  sat  upon  the  bank  and  her  tongue  was 
free  and  I  listened.  But  she  gave  opinions  and 


106  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

not  the  secrets  I  longed  to  know,  why  the  Al 
amo  was  her  shrine,  and  what  she  meant  by 
the  words,  "No  one  needs  to  look  at  your 
daughter,  mother."  I  dared  not  ask  her,  but 
sat  listening,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  drift 
upon  the — the  reef — entered  my  mind,  and  I 
wondered  if  it  were  not  predestined  a  wrecking 
reef  to  me.  And  then,  protesting  that  I  did 
not  care  for  her,  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  lulling 
sweetness  of  her  voice.  She  told  me  of  her 
trials  at  school,  of  her  singular  love  of  philos 
ophy  and  the  mathematical  blight  of  her  mind. 
And  then  she  began  to  talk  of  politics. 

"Uncle  thinks  you  will  be  elected,"  she  said. 
"And  won't  it  be  pleasant  for  me,  if  I  should 
go  to  Washington,  to  know  that  I  have  a  friend 
there.  For  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  that 
you  are  my  friend,  aren't  you?" 

Without  a  waver  she  looked  into  my  eyes 
and  I  told  her  yes.  "But  you  have  a  great  deal 
of  work  ahead,  haven't  you?"  she  asked,  her 
voice  deep  and  earnest. 

"Yes,  thousands  of  letters  to  be  written  and 
hundreds  of  places  to  be  canvassed." 


THE    PURPLE    BANK.  107 

"And  surely  you  will  not  permit  your  private 
business  here  to  interfere  with  your  plans?" 

"No;  my  friend,  Sam  Hall,  will  take  care 
of  my  business  here — as  soon  as  I  can  get  it 
into  a  shape  so  that  he  can  take  hold  of  it." 

"Quailes  has  told  me  about  him — he  has 
told  me  about  nearly  everybody.  Didn't  he 
have  some  great  disappointment?" 

"Yes,  a  woman  killed  his  heart." 

"Oh,  what  a  sorrow.  But  won't  his  heart 
come  to  life  again?" 

"No,  it  is  ashes." 

"And  if  her  heart  prompted  her  to  be  un 
faithful,  couldn't  she — couldn't  she  have  been 
gentler?" 

"Despair  cannot  be  made  easy." 

"Did  he  almost  die?" 

"Yes,  praying  for  death." 

"Oh,  his  was  a  love  worth  having.  And 
uncle  told  me  something  else." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"About  a  woman — Viola  Morgan." 


IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Yes.  How  quick  you  are.  And  did  she 
leave  your  heart  a  heap  of  ashes  ?" 

"No.  My  pride  was  wounded,  but  I  re 
covered  soon,  and  now  I  know  that  I  didn't 
love  her." 

"You  know  it  now,  you  say.  Do  we  have 
to  learn  to  know  that  we  did  not  love?" 

"Yes — and  sometimes  it  comes  upon  us 
slowly." 

"And  do  we  know  when  we  have  learned  to 
love — and  is  such  a  love  strong?" 

"When  love  is  a  task,  a  lesson,  it  can  be 
learned.  But  there  is  a  love  which  is  ever  a 
barbarian,  fighting,  always  conquering.  We 
may  fly,  but  it  pursues,  waving  its  fire-brand." 

"Isn't  it  strange  that  we  should  be  sitting 
here  talking  thus  ?"  she  said.  "We  know  that 
not  far  away  there  are  electric  cars  and  the 
newest  inventions  and  discoveries  in  science — 
and  yet  we  sit  upon  this  purple  bank  of  the 
middle  ages  and  talk — of  love." 

"To  love  there  is  no  middle  age,  no  age  but 
the  first  age.  I  knew  a  white-haired  man,  an 
electrician,  an  inventor,  with  his  work  spread 


THE    PURPLE    BANK.  109 

out  beneath  an  electric  light — and  as  if  in  the 
candle's  semi-gloom  he  loved  an  unworthy 
woman — and  killed  himself." 

"No,  love  has  no  age,"  she  said,  musingly. 
And  then  she  asked:  "Was  Miss  Morgan 
handsome?" 

"Cupid  must  have  surveyed  her  face  and 
set  her  features;  and  yet  it  was  a  face  that 
soon  fades  from  the  mind.  She  was  like  a 
bright  flower  that  has  no  perfume.  I  thank 
her." 

"You  thank  her  ?    And  what  for  ?" 

"For  marrying  the  cattle  man.  He  came 
and  dazzled  her  with  his  wealth  and  now  he 
is  in  Congress  and  she  is  doubtless  happy." 

"And  if  you  are  elected  you  will  see  her 
in  Washington.  Won't  it  be  embarrassing?" 

"To  her,  perhaps,  because  I  shall  be  in  the 
Senate  and  her  husband  in  the  House." 

"You  said  you  had  learned  that  you  did  not 
love  her.  What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Exactly  what  I  said — that  I  had  learned." 

"When  was  this — this  romance?" 

"Several  years  ago." 


no  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"And  when  did  you — you  learn?" 

"Very  lately,  I  think — after  I  came  out  as 
a  candidate." 

"Oh,  and  then  you  found  that  ambition  was 
stronger  than  love." 

"No,  not  that.  I — you  don't  know  what  you 
are  saying.  But  before  I  tell  you  more  of  my 
self,  and  you  must  admit  that  I  have  been 
free,  tell  me,  please,  why  the  Alamo  is  your 
shrine — why  you  stared  and " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  my  arm.  "That  was 
a  tragedy,  Mr.  Howardson,  and  I  must  not 
talk  about  it.  Shall  we  go  now?" 

We  strolled  back  across  the  clover  fields,  she 
talking  in  lively  mood,  I  brooding.  Long  had 
we  sat  upon  the  bank,  and  concerning  me  she 
knew  everything,  while  of  her  I  knew  nothing. 
I  did  not  wish  to  go  into  the  house  and  at  the 
gate  she  gave  me  her  hand,  but  her  eyes  did 
not  meet  mine. 


CHAPTER  XL 

GRASPING  AT  AN  IMAGE. 

On  my  way  back  to  town  I  was  overtaken 
by  a  man  who  informed  me  that  he  had  just 
returned  from  the  capital  of  the  State  and  that 
the  most  influential  men  connected  with  the 
government  had  decided  to  support  me.  This 
news  was  surely  encouraging,  but  before  I  had 
gone  a  dozen  rods  it  had  passed  out  of  my 
mind,  leaving  me  to  ponder  over  Zaleme's 
meaning  when  she  questioned  me  concerning 
my  stay  in  Riplar  when  surely  there  must  be 
so  much  important  work  waiting  for  me  in 
other  parts  of  the  State. 

The  tavern  bell  was  ringing  for  supper,  but 
I  went  to  the  office.  Old  Sam  was  lying  on 
the  couch  on  his  back,  with  his  arms  under  his 

head. 

in 


ii2  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"You  have  seen  her?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  sitting  down. 

"And  I  can  see  that  she  puzzles  you  more 
than  ever." 

"She  does— that's  a  fact." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"What  do  you  want  to  think?" 

"I  don't  know  that,  either." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  look  like  to  me.  A 
man  half  wild.  Mind  you,  my  eye  has  been 
educated.  To  the  average  eye,  you  are  simply 
restless." 

"Sam,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  In  my 
voice  there  must  have  been  a  tone  of  sorrow, 
for  he  sat  up  instantly  and  put  forth  his  hand 
as  if  with  a  touch  he  would  in  some  way 
soothe  me,  but  he  leaned  back  against  the  wall, 
sat  for  a  time  in  silence,  and  then  he  said: 

"You  knock  the  props  from  under  me.  I 
am  a  great  hand  to  diagnose,  but  I  can't  pre 
scribe.  What  do  I  want  you  to  do  ?  The  best 
you  can.  And  what  is  that?  I'll  swear  I  don't 


GRASPING  AT  AN   IMAGE.      113 

know.  Then  why  do  I  keep  on  talking  to  you  ? 
Don't  know." 

Late  at  night  he  and  I  walked  about  the 
echoing  town.  We  talked  politics  and  he  said 
that  his  eye,  which  rarely  failed  to  see  aright, 
saw  my  victory  coming.  He  knew  that  dis 
tinction  awaited  me.  There  always  was  hope 
for  the  student,  for  the  man  who  read  outside 
and  far  beyond  the  demands  of  his  own  voca 
tion.  Members  of  the  bar  had  laughed  at  me 
for  carrying  a  book  of  poems  in  my  pocket. 
But  they  had  not  laughed  the  next  day  when 
a  poem  won  a  jury.  He  believed  that  after  a 
time  I  would  make  myself  as  much  at  home 
in  the  Senate  chamber  as  I  had  in  the  court 
room.  I  listened  abstractedly,  and  suddenly  I 
said  to  myself:  "Is  this  croaking  old  Sam 
singing  that  sweet  song?"  I  had  never  ex 
pected  from  him  a  tune  of  so  soothing  and 
hopeful  a  melody.  And  yet  soon  I  gave  it  but 
half  an  ear,  as  if  it  were  a  tune  grown  stale. 
How  great  is  the  psychological  criange  that  can 
come  upon  us  in  a.  moment ! 

I  resolved  to  leave  home  at  a  time  no  fur- 

8 


IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ther  distant  than  two  days — made  an  oath  of 
it,  and  Sam  applauded  my  determination.  I  was 
holding  the  mirror,  not  to  the  face  of  nature, 
but  to  the  smiling  face  of  success. 

The  next  day,  while  pondering  deeply,  there 
came  the  realization  that  I  was  walking  toward 
Carson's  house.  Straightway  and  with  a  firm 
step  I  went  to  the  office  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
a  ward  organizer;  and  then  I  sat  and  mused, 
and  through  the  rear  window  gazed  at  a  hum 
ming  bird  that  whirred  among  the  purple  flow 
ers.  And  later,  while  writing  to  a  county  judge, 
I  found  that  rhymes  were  dripping  from  my 
pen.  So  I  went  out  to  walk,  not  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Carson's  house,  of  course;  but  when  I 
had  come  opposite  the  gate,  I  halted  and  gazed 
into  the  house.  It  was  for  a  moment  only,  for 
I  hastened  on,  afraid  of  being  seen.  I  was 
seen  a  moment  later,  by  Carson,  who  stepped 
from  behind  a  clump  of  bushes  in  the  yard  and 
asked  me  to  come  in.  I  strove  to  make  myself 
astonished  that  he  should  ask  me,  seeing 
that  I  was  hastening  to  attend  to  some  im 
portant  matter,  and  I  thanked  him  and 


GRASPING  AT  AN   IMAGE.      115 

walked  on,  my  feet  growing  heavier  with 
each  step.  To  the  left  was  a  wooded  pas 
ture,  and  a  gate  opening  out  upon  the 
road;  I  heard  the  gate  creak,  and,  looking,  I 
felt  my  heart  swell  like  a  billow,  almost  chok 
ing  me.  But  I  walked  on,  determined  not  to 
let  her  know  that  I  had  seen  her;  and  then  I 
began  to  curse  myself,  for  she  was  going  to  suf 
fer  me  to  pass  without  a  word ;  and  I  did  pass, 
but  with  great  effort,  so  heavy  had  my  feet 
become.  I  thought  she  called  me,  and  I 
wheeled  about,  but  no — toward  the  house  she 
was  walking  jauntily,  and  surely  with  no 
thought  of  me.  Then  I  said  to  myself:  "I 
will  go  back  and  buy  a  horse  from  old  man 
Carson.  I  have  no  place  to  keep  one,  and  of 
all  things  I  need  a  horse  the  least,  but  I  will 
go  back  and  buy  one — bargain  in  the  interest 
of  a  client,  and  after  a  time  I  can  receive  word 
that  he  has  changed  his  mind."  But  was  I  a 
man  to  be  quibbling  thus  with  myself?  I  went 
to  my  office. 

How  tired  one  becomes  in  the  spring  of  the 
year.     And  how  blue  everything  looks.     The 


n6  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

droning  of  a  bee  at  the  window  made  me 
sleepy,  and  I  lay  down  upon  the  couch,  and  in 
stantly  I  was  wide  awake.  In  came  a  man,  a 
fellow  with  a  leer  of  evil,  a  sordid  eye,  and 
said  that  he  wanted  a  hundred  dollars  to  use  in 
his  district,  in  my  behalf.  Of  course  it  was 
with  pleasure  that  the  request  was  refused,  but 
not  with  pleasure  nor  even  with  mildness  did 
he  accept  the  refusal.  I  got  up  to  kick  him 
out,  and  as  I  was  about  to  do  it,  old  Sam  came 
in.  He  scowled  at  me  and  taking  the  scoun 
drel  by  the  shoulders,  put  him  out. 

"Why,"  said  he,  sitting  down,  "putting  him 
out  is  all  right  enough,  but  you  oughtn't  to 
kick  him.  In  fact,  Lucian,  I  don't  know 
whether  he  ought  to  have  been  put  out  at  all. 
He  came  as  a  sort  of  diversion  and  you  ought 
to  have  entertained  him.  Didn't  he  change  the 
drift  of  your  mind?" 

"Yes,  decidedly." 

"Well,  then,  he  was  good  for  you,  presum 
ing  that  your  thoughts  were,  let  us  say,  tire 
some.  You  ought  to  have  been  like  old  Calvin 
Burgiss,  of  North  Carolina.  He  was  going 


GRASPING  AT  AN   IMAGE.      117 

along  the  road  one  night,  with  a  breach  of 
promise  suit  haunting  his  brain,  when  suddenly 
two  men  stepped  out  into  the  road  and  thrust 
pistols  under  his  nose. 

"  'Gentlemen,'  he  cried  out,  'I  am  pleased  to 
meet  you.  What  are  you  going  to  take  ?'  They 
took  his  money  and  at  the  close  of  the  cere 
mony  he  said,  'Good-night,  gentlemen,  so  glad 
to  have  met  you.'  And  you  should  have  felt 
as  he  did,  Lucian." 

"But  I  have  no  breach  of  promise  case  on 
hand." 

"True  enough,  but  it's  worse,  and  anything 
to  give  even  temporary  relief  ought  to  be  wel 
come.  By  the  way,  I  was  out  at  Carson's  this 
morning." 

"You  were!"  I  cried  in  surprise. 

"Yes;  you  didn't  ask  me  to  go  with  you 
and " 

"Come  now,  Sam,  you  know  it  was  simply 
an  oversight." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  at  times  to  forget  the 
world  is  simply  an  oversight.  But  I  really  had 
business  with  Carson — a  real  estate  transfer." 


n8  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Did  you  see— her?" 

"Oh  yes,  and  had  quite  a  talk  with  her — very 
practical  girl,  I  should  say." 

"It's  just  what  you  shouldn't  say.  I  don't 
think  she's  at  all  practical." 

"That's  where  you  are  misled.  Don't  you 
know  that  women  are  more  practical  than 
men?" 

"No,  I  don't." 

"But  I  do.    A  woman " 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"About  you?    Oh,  she  spoke  of  you." 

"I  didn't  ask  you  that." 

"No,  but  that's  what  you  meant." 

"Sam,  you  used  to  bark;  now  you  are  be 
ginning  to  bite." 

"That's  right,  I  am  as  mean  as  a  dog." 

"I  didn't  say  that." 

"No,  but  it's  a  fact." 

"It  is  not  a  fact.  You  are  the  most  gener 
ous,  whole-souled  fellow  in  the  world.  But 
tell  me  what  she  said." 

"About  you?" 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  will  have  it  that  way." 


GRASPING  AT  AN   IMAGE.      119 

"It's  you  that  will  have  it  that  way.  She 
spoke  highly  of  you,  said  you  had  been  kind 
to  her." 

"Sam,  you  spoke  of  her  hand-writing,  you 
remember — about  her  being  stubborn.  What 
do  you  think  now  that  you  have  seen  her?" 

"That  she  is  as  steadfast  as  a  rock.  The  man 
who  wins  her  love  will  keep  it ;  however,  to  be 
frank  with  you,  Lucian,  I  don't  know  but  it 
has  already  been  won." 

"I'm  afraid  of  that,  too,  but  I  won't  believe 
it — nothing  shall  convince  me  of  it." 

"Why  should  you  care?  You  don't  love 
her." 

"Well,  no,  that's  true." 

Sam  said  that  he  knew  it  and  then  we  sat 
in  silence.  How  peculiar  a  fellow  he  was,  and 
how  gray  his  hair  was  turning,  though  he  was 
not  so  very  old;  and  his  face,  how  full  of 
wrinkles.  Ah,  trouble  has  many  a  mask, 
which  it  puts  from  day  to  day  upon  our  faces, 
choosing  those  with  deeper  and  yet  still  deeper 
lines.  But  a  young  god  of  happiness  may 
spring  up,  with  the  coming  of  a  new  sunrise, 


120  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

tea'r  off  the  mask  and  with  a  wing,  loaned  by 
the  angel  of  love,  fan  back  to  youth  the  aged 
countenance.  While  thus  musing  I  knew  that 
there  were  times  when  the  mind  would  reject 
a  truth  to  grasp  an  image.  We  speak  of  the 
nobility  of  love,  and  in  a  heedless  passion  there 
may  be  a  gentle  virtue,  but  we  know  that  rea 
son  leads  a  man  to  enlightenment,  that  love, 
with  her  iron-pointed  lash,  often  drives  him 
back  to  barbarism. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

OUT  IN  THE  STORM. 

I  sat  alone  in  the  office  until  the  hour  was 
late.  The  night  was  dark.  The  damp  breath 
of  a  cloud  was  blown  in  at  the  window.  A 
long  time  had  passed  since  the  sound  of  a  foot 
step  had  fallen — a  patrolman  treading  his  way 
through  the  lonesome  hours.  How  weary 
seems  all  the  world  when  high  overhead  in 
the  darkness  the  bell  strikes  one.  It  is  as  if 
life  itself  is  companionless.  One,  nothing  more, 
and  hill-side  dogs  cease  their  barking  and  then 
in  a  prolonged  howl  pour  forth  their  sorrow. 

I  put  down  the  window  to  keep  out  the  com 
ing  rain,  went  out,  locked  the  door  and  was 
looking  up  at  the  clouds  when  I  heard  a  quick 
step.  There  came  a  distant,  dull  flash  of 
lightning,  and  I  saw  something  gleam  above 

121 


122  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

my  head  and  I  threw  up  my  arm  and  caught 
a  heavy  blow  upon  it,  caught  a  wrist,  and 
knew  that  a  knife  was  lashing  at  my  arm. 
Firmly  I  held  the  wrist,  and  with  free 
hands  we  fought.  Grasping  at  his  throat 
I  tore  his  garments — I  got  my  thumb  in  the 
corner  of  his  eye — but  no,  nothing  so  barbar 
ous  as  that.  I  was  heavier,  stronger,  but  he 
was  quick,  and  how  dexterously  he  strove  with 
the  free  hand  to  seize  the  knife.  As  I  struck 
him,  he  shook  in  the  grasp  of  my  other  hand, 
and  he  tottered,  but  he  dodged  like  a  rat  and 
muttered  in  Spanish,  and  then  I  knew  him.  I 
tried  to  catch  his  other  wrist;  I  was  sure  that 
with  the  strength  of  my  right  hand  I  could 
break  it,  but  he  had  a  way  of  turning 
about  and  humping  forward  so  that  I  could  not 
reach  him.  To  cry  for  assistance  did  not  oc 
cur  to  me.  I  was  in  the  fight  and  my  only 
thought  was  to  conquer.  If  I  could  only  hit 
him  in  the  burr  of  the  ear,  but  surely  he  had 
the  head  of  a  rat.  But  during  all  this  time  his 
wrist  was  shrinking  within  my  grasp;  he  was 
in  agony,  for  I  could  hear  him  groan.  "Mercy," 


OUT  IN  THE  STORM.  123 

he  cried  in  English,  but  I  gave  him  a  twist,  and 
in  the  flash  of  light  I  saw  his  face,  almost  at 
my  knees,  turned  upward,  and  down  went  my 
fist  with  a  smash.  He  was  limp  in  my  grasp — 
the  knife  had  fallen  to  the  ground.  It  was 
all  I  could  do  to  restrain  myself.  I  yearned 
to  tear  him  to  pieces,  and  I  did  put  my  foot 
upon  his  neck  till  I  could  summon  the  patrol 
man.  He  came  with  a  lantern,  and  in  the 
bleeding  thing  upon  the  ground  we  recognized 
a  Mexican,  Loro  Dalio. 

"It's  a  pity  that  we  can't  have  the  first  say  so 
with  him,"  said  the  policeman,  "but  we've  got 
a  warrant  for  him  from  a  town  down  the  road. 
I  reckon  you're  able  to  walk  now.  Come,  get 
up  here  with  you  now." 

Sam  Hall  had  warned  me  against  the  Mexi 
can,  but  since  my  return  I  had  not  thought  of 
him. 

The  policeman  picked  up  the  knife  and  I  saw 
something  gleam  in  the  light  and  took  it  up — 
a  small  morocco  jewel  case,  and  on  it  glowed 
in  gold  the  name  "Zaleme." 

"Let  me  take  this,"  said  I.    "It  belongs  to  a 


124  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

friend  of  mine,"  and  I  put  it  into  the  pocket  of 
my  coat,  but  it  burned  against  my  breast,  and 
I  took  it  out  and  wrapped  my  handkerchief 
about  it  and,  carrying  it  in  my  hand,  went  to 
the  hotel.  At  so  late  an  hour  there  was  usually 
no  one  stirring  about  the  place,  but  now  a 
number  of  boarders  were  in  the  office,  having 
come  from  their  rooms  in  fear  of  the  coming 
storm.  And  by  this  time  the  wind  was  howling 
and  from  overhead  came  a  tearing  noise  as  if 
the  roof  were  ripping  off.  I  went  to  my  room 
and  put  the  jewel  case  upon  the  cold  slab  of 
the  dresser  and  sat  down  to  think.  In  the  street 
arose  the  cry  that  a  cyclone  was  coming  and 
I  hastened  below.  The  storm  had  increased  in 
violence  and  a  fierce  rain  was  lashing  the  earth. 
Harder  and  harder  the  wind  blew,  and  in  my 
breast  was  a  sickening  fear — that  old  Carson's 
house  might  blow  away.  Pale  women  with 
hanging  hair  came  running  down  the  stairs, 
and  in  a  corner  knelt  an  old  negro,  praying 
piteously.  The  front  door  blew  open  with  a 
crash  of  glass,  the  rain  threshed  in  and  I — I 
was  out  in  the  street  with  my  face  set  toward 


OUT  IN  THE  STORM.  125 

Carson's  house.  As  far  as  the  edge  of  the 
town  there  was  here  and  there  a  light,  but  I 
had  to  grope  with  my  head  bent,  for  the  rain 
was  blinding  and  it  beat  hard  upon  my  breast. 
Out  upon  the  road  the  wind  was  fiercer,  but 
there  was  less  danger,  and  with  no  chance  to 
go  astray  unless  the  fences  marking  the  bound 
ary  of  the  roadway  should  be  blown  down. 
Horses  neighed  and  cattle  lowed  distressfully. 
In  the  woods  there  was  a  great  roar  and  it 
seemed  to  be  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
yet  it  remained  off  in  the  woods.  Surely  old 
Carson's  house  could  not  stand  so  fierce  a  blast. 
Thunder  jarred  the  earth  and  the  lightning 
shot  across  the  sky  from  the  east  and  tore  open 
the  black  bosom  of  the  distant  west.  For  a 
moment  there  was  the  house,  a  live  coal  in  a 
torrent  of  liquid  fire,  and  then  came  a 
blackness  that  almost  benumbed  the  heart. 
Feeling  along  the  fence  I  found  the  gate, 
went  into  the  yard  and  halted  beneath  a 
locust  tree,  but  the  falling  boughs  threshed 
me  and  I  stood  out  in  the  open,  waiting 
for  the  light  and — what?  For  the  in- 


126  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ward  glory  of  saving  her  life,  to  seize  her  in 
my  arms,  to  hold  her  to  my  breast,  to  let  my 
wild  heart  beat  against  hers.  But  the  deceit 
ful  old  house  stood  there,  and  no  one  seemed 
to  be  disturbed.  The  roar  in  the  woods  was 
dying,  the  rain  did  not  beat  so  hard,  the  storm 
was  passing,  and  with  a  disappointment  which 
I  could  not  have  explained  and  which  my  rea 
son  must  have  condemned,  I  stole  out  at  the 
gate,  afraid  now  of  being  seen.  The  rain 
ceased,  and  now  out  upon  the  road  I  trod  pro 
saic  mud,  ashamed  of  myself.  I  stole  into 
my  room — a  drenched  and  dripping  fighter  of 
wind-mills,  tossed  high  in  the  blanket  of  sheer 
absurdity. 

The  jewel  case!  I  unwound  my  handker 
chief  from  about  it,  opened  it;  and  I  found  a 
lock  of  light  hair,  clasped  with  gold,  and  a 
locket,  and  in  the  locket  were  two  pictures,  of 
a  light-haired  man  and  of  the — Alamo. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET. 

Old  Sam  joined  me  at  the  breakfast  table  on 
the  following  morning,  and  as  he  took  his  seat 
he  remarked :  "So,  you  proved  yourself  a  hero 
last  night."  I  heard  a  rush  in  my  head,  I  felt 
that  I  was  red,  and  I  stammered  something. 
"In  your  conquest  over  the  Mexican,"  said  he, 
and  in  relief  I  cried :  "Oh,  yes."  I  thought  he 
alluded  to  my  struggle  through  the  wind  and 
the  rain,  to  my  standing  in  Carson's  yard, 
watching  for  the  house  to  blow  down.  The 
fight  for  life  had  faded  from  my  mind. 

"What  did  you  suppose  I  meant?"  Sam 
asked,  giving  me  his  peculiar  smile,  in  which 
there  was  a  cool  harmonizing  of  bitterness  and 
generosity. 

"What  else  could  you  have  meant?" 
127 


128  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"And  is  your  life  so  lightly  to  be  estimated 
that  you  forgot  the  fact  that  only  a  few  hours 
ago  you  came  near  losing  it?" 

"I  wasn't  in  any  especial  danger." 

"No?  Regard  it  as  a  sort  of  cheerful  greet 
ing  when  a  ruffian  rushes  upon  you  with  a 
knife,  and  in  the  dark,  too,  eh?  But  I  am 
worrying  you,  Lucian,  and  I  won't.  You  know 
I  warned  you  against  that  fellow,  but  of  course 
you  had  no  way  to  protect  yourself  against 
him.  He  must  have  committed  numerous  petty 
robberies,  for  in  his  pockets  they  found  odds 
and  ends  of  household  vanities,  rings  and 
breastpins." 

Did  he  know  what  I  had  found  ?  Was  noth 
ing  beyond  the  reach  of  that  searching  eye? 
At  times  how  devilish  was  his  intuition.  To 
save  annoyance,  I  told  him  of  the  jewel  case. 
He  was  not  at  all  surprised;  he  smiled.  The 
patrolman  had  told  him  that  I  took  up  some 
thing  with  gold  lettering  upon  it  and  had  said 
that  it  belonged  to  a  friend  of  mine.  That  had 
given  him  a  clue,  so  strong,  indeed,  that  he 
had  requested  the  officer  to  speak  of  it  to  no 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.      129 

person.  And  for  this  I  thanked  him,  assuring 
him  that  he  was  always  considerate  in  the  ab 
sence  of  a  friend.  He  smiled  and  remarked : 
"Ah,  but  in  his  presence — how " 

"That  is  another  matter.  Sam,  I  have  known 
you  for  years,  and  during  all  the  time  you 
have  been  a  deep  study  to  me." 

"You  must  believe  in  the  study  of  man." 

"Yes,  for  other  philosophies  may  be  dead. 
Man  is  a  living  philosophy." 

"You  mean  a  living  fool,  don't  you?" 

"A  living  issue,  at  any  rate." 

"Lucian,  I  don't  think  your  study  of  man 
has  been  in  relation  to  philosophy,  but  to  poli 
tics.  You  are  a  born  politician,  and  I  have 
studied  you  for  years.  Understand,  you  are 
as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived,  true  to  your 
friends,  and  I  might  say  fatally  generous,  but 
no  man  can  feel  as  much  interest  in  an  ac 
quaintance  as  you  always  seem  to.  But  of  late 
you  have  been  almost  completely  changed.  And 
at  your  time  of  life  a  man  must  be  powerfully 
wrought  upon " 

"I'm  not  so  old,  Sam." 


136  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Oh,  sensitive  along  that  line,  eh?  Why, 
some  time  ago  you  snorted  when  some  old  fel 
low  said  he  didn't  believe  you  mature  enough 
for  the  Senate." 

"Look  here,  Sam,  you  want  me  to  do  some 
thing.  What  is  it?" 

"Acknowledge  to  me,"  he  said.  "You  know 
what." 

"But  suppose  that  in  such  an  acknowledg 
ment  there " 

He  stopped  me  with  a  shake  of  his  wise  old 
head.  "No  bush-beating.  I  want  to  know. 
Will  you  acknowledge?" 

"And  if  I  should,  it  would  be  an  acknowl 
edgment  to  you  before — to  myself.  I  have 
denied  it,  even  under  the  spell  of  her  presence, 
of  a  sweet  incense  that  arose  from  her — but, 
yes,  I  will  acknowledge  it,  Sam." 

He  reached  over  and  took  my  hand,  and  his 
throat  appeared  to  be  swollen.  There  was  no 
one  else  in  the  room,  save  the  negro  waiter, 
and  he  stood  in  a  corner,  asleep,  like  a  horse. 
And  for  a  long  time  we  sat  in  silence.  A  sour 
sharpness  was  gone  from  his  smile.  We  parted 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.       131 

at  the  door.  The  sun  was  hot  and  there  were 
but  few  reminders  of  the  storm,  tangled  shrub 
bery  and  a  pool  of  red  water  in  the  road ;  and 
about  them  were  gorgeous  butterflies,  winged 
fancies. 

Old  man  Carson  was  gathering  up  the  locust 
boughs  which  the  wind  had  snapped  from  the 
trees  and  scattered  upon  the  ground.  I  was 
quite  upon  him  before  he  was  aware  of  me, 
and  peering  through  his  green  burden  he 
called  out:  "Just  go  in  and  make  yourself  at 
home  and  I'll  be  there  in  a  moment."  On  the 
veranda  there  were  rocking  chairs  and  I  sat 
down  to  wait  for  the  old  man  to  throw  the 
boughs  over  the  fence,  which  he  did,  and  then 
he  came  slowly  walking  toward  the  house,  a 
turkey  gobbler  strutting  behind  him.  He  sat 
down,  took  off  his  hat,  dropped  it  upon  the 
floor  beside  his  chair  and  said  that  it  was  warm, 
and  I  agreed  that  it  was  warm.  He  could  not 
say  that  the  rain  was  done  with,  and  neither 
could  I.  Away  off  to  the  northwest  the  storm 
must  have  done  considerable  damage,  and  I 
thought  so,  too.  Zaleme  and  her  mother  drove 


132  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

early  into  town  to  do  some  shopping  and  he 
didn't  know  when  they  would  be  back;  and 
after  this  it  made  no  difference  to, me  whether 
or  not  he  knew  anything.  But  unfortunately 
he  did,  and  about  politics.  There  are  two  sub 
jects  which  all  men  in  America  are  prepared  to 
discuss,  politics  and  a  prize  fight,  and  for  both 
of  them  ignorance  often  serves  as  a  text 
book.  I  saw  a  buggy  and  looked  at  him. 
Confound  him,  why  didn't  he  say  whether 
or  not  it  was  Zaleme.  He  sat  there  talking 
about  his  young  onions;  and  the  ground 
was  drying  so  fast  that  he  could  weed 
them  pretty  soon,  and — the  buggy  drew  up  at 
the  gate.  Ah,  and  had  she  slept  in  the  moon 
and  for  a  morning  bath  had  she  plunged  into 
the  sun?  They  say  that  the  ignorant  are  those 
who  have  not  by  education  been  taught  to 
govern  their  emotions;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  Milton's  hell  would  be  hotter  if  his  brain 
had  not  been  cooled  by  the  sublime  thought  of 
all  preceding  ages.  Yes,  that  is  what  they 
say  of  the  ignorant,  and  if  it  is  true  that  to 
feel  with  undue  intensity  is  a  mark  of  igno- 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.      133 

ranee,  then  I  am  far  from  learned.  But  how 
wise  she  must  have  been,  for  she  seemed  to  feel 
nothing;  perhaps,  however,  I  thought  with  a 
pang,  there  was  nothing  to  feel.  She  sat  in  a 
rocking  chair,  fanning  herself,  and  an  anger 
arose  within  me,  not  against  her,  but  inflamed 
against  the  picture  of  the  man  in  the  jewel 
case.  She  must  value  it,  and  if  so,  deserved 
punishment,  and  I  would  punish  her.  I  asked 
her  if  she  had  been  frightened  by  the  storm. 
She  was  accustomed  to  storms ;  the  wind  often 
blew  hard  in  Kentucky. 

"Our  bank  of  flowers,  where  your  ancient 
poet  waited  to  sit  and  weep  his  wet  eyes  dry, 
must  have  been  moist  enough  last  night,"  she 
said. 

To  know  that  she  had  remembered  what  I 
had  said  was  a  sort  of  consolation,  and  I  post 
poned  her  punishment,  but  it  was  respite  in 
stead  of  pardon ;  she  deserved  to  suffer. 

"Oh,  you  have  met  my  friend,  Sam  Hall." 

"Yes ;  and  isn't  he  interesting — but  he's  aw 
fully  harsh  at  times.  It  is  a  harshness,  though, 
that  one  must  pity,  considering  the — the  his- 


134  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

tory  of  his  heart.  And  that  reminds  me — how 
much  more  interesting  the  history  of  a  man's 
heart  than  the  history  of  his  public  acts. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  know  the  battles  fought 
by  the  heart  of  a  great  man — not  the  pretended 
ones,  such  as  we  read  about,  but  the  real  ones 
— wouldn't  you  like  to  know?" 

"Yes,  but  the  heart  of  a  great  man  is  gener 
ally  bound  up  in  his  public  life.  His  heart  has 
afflictions,  but  is  not  often  called  upon  to  fight 
a  great  battle  because " 

"Because  what?" 

"Because  woman  yields  to  greatness." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  you  mustn't  think  that.  Do 
you  mean  that  woman  is  ever  willing  to  be  the 
slave  of  greatness;  is  that  wrhat  you  mean?" 

"No,  that  is  not  what  I  mean  exactly,  but 
there  is  in  it  an  element  of  my  meaning.  But 
this  and  similar  questions  have  been  argued 
time  out  of  mind.  Let  us  talk  about  my 
friend." 

"We  were  talking  about  him.  Do  you  know 
that  I  am  well  enough  acquainted  with  you  to 
tell  you  something?" 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.      135 

"May  I  ask  what  it  is  ?" 

"That  I  don't  like  you  very  well  today,  for 
you  are  harsher  than  Mr.  Hall.  But  I  ought 
not  to  censure  you,  for  you,  like  him,  have 
had  a " 

"Please  don't  say  that  when  you  know  bet 
ter." 

"Indeed,  I  don't  know  better.  Why  should 
I  know  better  when  every  one  else  in  the  neigh 
borhood  knows  to  the  contrary?" 

"Because  I  have  assured  you." 

"But  why  assure  me?    I  didn't  demand " 

"I  know  that.    You  had  no  interest  in  it." 

"Oh,  yes  I  had — the  interest  of  a  friend." 

"Then  as  a  friend,  accept  the  truth  when  I 
offer  it,  that  Viola  Morgan  left  no  impression 
upon  my  life." 

"If  you  say  so,  of  course  I  must  believe  it; 
and  indeed  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  for 
to  have  one's  entire  life " 

I  held  up  my  hand,  and  my  heart  beat  hard 
against  the  jewel  case,  the  portrait  of  a  man; 
I  held  up  my  hand  and  she  sat  in  silence,  look- 


136  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ing  at  me.     Was  it  time  for  her  punishment? 
No,  I  would  grant  her  another  respite. 

"Were  you  going  to  say  something?"  she 
asked,  and  her  expression  was  so  serious,  so 
sorrowful  for  a  moment  that  I  had  it  in  my 
softened  heart  to  pardon  her  and  to  give  her 
the  jewel  case,  without  a  word ;  but  she  smiled, 
the  smile  of  carelessness,  and  my  heart  hard 
ened  again,  and  I  was  a  savage. 

"Was  I  going  to  say  something?  It  couldn't 
have  been  of  any  importance,  for  I  have  forgot 
ten  it." 

"You  spoke,  I  don't  recall  when,  of  going 
away — to  attend  to  your  campaign  work.  Do 
you  expect  to  go  soon?" 

"Yes,  tomorrow." 

"Really,  now,  isn't  it  singular  that  you 
should  go  just  a  day  before  we  do?  Mother 
and  I  start  for  Kentucky  day  after  tomorrow." 

"And  I  suppose  you  are  anxious  to  get 
home?" 

"Yes,  but  I  have  enjoyed  my  stay  in  Texas. 
I  come  here  every  year — to  San  Antonio." 

"Has  your  brother  lived  there  very  long?" 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.      137 

"No,  he  moved  there  from  another  Texas 
town  about  two  years  ago." 

"Then  you  began  your  yearly  visits " 

"Before  he  moved  there  ?     Yes." 

Why  was  she  glad  to  anticipate  me?  Was 
this  on  her  part  a  studied  or  an  accidental  pun 
ishment?  But  she  did  not  look  like  a  wilful 
torturer,  as  she  sat  in  half  listless  grace  before 
me.  Why  did  she,  or  why  should  she  have 
begun  her  visits  when  there  was  no  cause — 
there  was  a  cause,  and  my  heart  beat  hard 
against  the  image  of  it. 

"Do  you  always  come  at  the  same  time  of 
the  year?" 

"Not  exactly,  but  when  it's  cold  at  home." 

"I  hope  that  your  next  visit  may  be  during 
the  session  of  the  next  legislature." 

"Oh,  yes,  for  then  I  may  have  an  opportu 
nity  to  congratulate  you." 

"I  trust  that  the  result " 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  broke  in,  her  face  so  glow 
ing  that  my  own  hope  brightened.  "You  will 
surely  be  elected,  for  everybody  says  so,  and 
— and  everybody  is  a  majority,  of  course." 


138  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Yes,  as  a  rule,  but  not  always  as  a  legis 
lature." 

"Now  you  are  laughing  at  me,  but  I'd  rather 
you'd  laugh  than  be  harsh.  I  should  think  that 
it  would  be  such  fun  to  go  about  and  meet 
people  who  are  anxious  to  meet  you  and  to 
make  speeches.  Isn't  it?" 

"Looking  back,  it  seems  that  it  was,"  I  re 
plied;  "but  looking  forward  it  does  not  seem 
that  it  will  be." 

"Oh,  then  you  have  grown  tired  of  it?  Of 
course  too  much  of  it  would  grow  wearisome." 

Did  her  mind  shed  everything,  like  a  swan's 
back  shedding  water;  or  was  she  artfully  put 
ting  me  away  when  she  found  that  I  was  com 
ing  too  near?  But  out  of  a  deep  study  of  her 
I  came  with  no  knowledge;  no  key  could  open 
her  heart.  Ah,  and  was  it  bolted  with  the  steel 
of  a  time  lock,  and  must  I  wait  for  a  certain 
minute  to  be  ticked  off  in  the  hazy  future?  A 
newspaper  had  recently  offered  this  criticism 
of  a  speech  of  mine :  "His  address  for  the 
practical  mind  was  too  full  of  images."  And 
now  I  wondered  if  that  were  true.  Had  the 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.      139 

woman  sitting  before  me,  slowly  rocking,  with 
her  hands  expressive  in  repose  upon  the  arms 
of  the  chair — had  she  taught  me,  forced  me  to 
think  in  images? 

Carson,  who  at  the  garden  gate  had  been 
talking  to  some  one,  came  upon  the  veranda 
to  congratulate  me  upon  my  escape  from  assas 
sination.  "Fought  a  Mexican  in  the  dark, 
smashed  his  face  and  took  a  knife  away  from 
him,"  said  the  old  man,  speaking  to  Zaleme. 
She  looked  at  me  and  for  a  moment  there  were 
taut  lines  about  her  mouth.  "While  we  were 
in  town  mother  and  I  heard  some  men  talking 
about  a  desperate  fight,  but  heard  no  names, 
and  surely  did  not  think  that  you  had  been  in 
such  danger,  Mr.  Howardson.  Tell  me — no, 
don't  tell  me,  either.  I  don't  want  to  hear  it." 

"But  I  do,"  said  the  old  man.  "Rushed  right 
on  you  in  the  dark.  Now  you  know  that's 
dangerous !  Why,  a  man  might  be  killed.  You 
recollect  old  Tom  Martson,  found  dead  one 
morning,  you  know,  with  a  knife  sticking  in 
him.  Humph !  And  all  because  you'd  sent  the 
greaser  to  the  penitentiary  while  you  were 


140  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

prosecuting  attorney.  They  ought  to  hang 
him — that's  the  only  way  to  serve  such  scoun 
drels.  And  they  tell  me  he  had  his  pockets  full 
of  all  sorts  of  trinkets.  Sneak  thief  as  well  as 
murderer.  Well,  I'm  glad  he  didn't  get  you, 
anyway." 

He  went  about  his  work,  picking  up  things 
in  the  yard,  pulling  up  weeds  in  the  garden, 
calling  out  at  some  one  passing  along  the  road, 
humming  a  tune ;  an  old  man  whose  farm  was 
in  the  center  of  the  world. 

"You  heard  your  uncle  say  that  the  Mexican 
was  a  sneak  thief.  Have  you  missed  any — any 
jewelry?" 

"No,  I  didn't  bring  any  with  me;  the  truth 
is,  I  don't  care  for  it." 

"Isn't  this  yours?"  I  held  forth  the  jewel 
case  and  I  thought  she  would  snatch  it  from 
me. 

"Where — where  did  you  get  it?"  Her  hands 
were  not  listless  now. 

"The  Mexican  dropped  it  while  he  was  try 
ing  to  kill  me." 

"It  was  on  the  dresser  and  I  saw  it  at  noon- 


GAVE  HER  THE  LOCKET.      141 

time  yesterday;  and  I  wonder  that  I  did  not 
miss  it  this  morning." 

"Is  it  so  very— very  valuable?" 

"To  any  one  else?  No,"  and  slowly  she 
shook  her  head,  looking  upon  the  case  lying  in 
her  lap. 

"Miss  Zaleme,  I  must  confess  a  crime.  I 
opened  it." 

"Did  you?"  and  now  she  opened  it.  "That 


was  no  crime." 


"I  can  understand  the  lock  of  hair  and  the 
man,  but  why  the  picture  of  the  Alamo?" 

"Please  don't  ask  me." 

"Is  the  memory  painful  ?" 

"The  memory  of  a  tragedy  is  always  pain 
ful." 

"Am  I  ever  to  know?" 

She  shook  her  head,  looked  down,  and  was 
silent.  And  with  a  perversity  I  could  not  de 
fine,  I  was  disappointed  because  she  had  not 
condemned  me  for  opening  the  jewel  case.  I 
was  soon  to  depart  for  the  field  of  labor,  and 
doubtless  I  should  see  her  no  more;  and  look 
ing  back  into  the  mist,  the  lamp  light,  the 


142  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

woods,  her  words  and  her  actions  had  given  me 
no  encouragement.  Encouragement  toward 
what  end  ?  She  had  spoken  of  a  tragedy.  She 
lived  in  the  past,  worshiping  at  an  altar,  and 
upon  it  had  been  sprinkled  sacred  blood.  But 
I  was  determined  to  see  her  once  again,  and  I 
asked  her  if  I  might  come  in  the  evening,  and 
with  a  smile  that  set  bells  ringing  somewhere, 
she  said  yes,  and  held  forth  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XIV.    * 

WITH  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STARS  IN  HER  EYES. 

Once  I  saw  a  hawk  trying  to  fly  with  a  piece 
of  wood  which  had  been  tied  to  its  foot,  and 
it  rose  almost  as  high  as  the  top  of  a  tall  tree, 
but  the  persistent  weight  pulled  the  bird  down 
to  the  earth.  And  that  is  sometimes  the  con 
dition  of  a  man's  mind.  It  is  held  down  by  a 
weight ;  and  I  felt  it  to  be  the  state  of  my  mind 
as  I  walked  back  to  town.  I  was  striving  to 
construct  an  address,  to  be  delivered  to  the  peo 
ple  of  an  adjoining  county.  I  could  not  soar. 
With  a  dead  weight  pulling  at  me,  it  was  all  I 
could  do  to  plod. 

Old  Sam  was  in  the  office,  and  his  nurse-like 
tenderness  fretted  me.  He  wanted  something 
to  pet,  a  stone  bruise  to  tie  up  and  care  for,  and 

only  the  most  dependent  of  men  could  like  that 
143 


144  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

sort  of  attention.     "Sam,"  said  I,  "will  you  do 
me  a  favor?" 

"Yes,  surely,  what  is  it?" 
"Curse  me.     Call  me  a  damned  fool." 
"Why  so  ?    What  have  you  done  ?" 
"Nothing,  only  I'd  rather  you'd  curse  me 
than  to  be  so  tender  with  me." 

He  laughed,  not  his  old  laugh  that  I  used  to 
call  three-cornered,  like  a  saw  file,  but  a  laugh 
that  was  soft  and  sympathetic.  "I  know  ex 
actly  how  you  feel,  Lucian,  and  I'll  let  your 
suggestion  shape  my  conduct,"  and  then  with 
his  eyes  a-twinkle  with  genial  mischief  he 
swore  a  "mouth  filling  oath,"  but  in  it  there 
was  no  profanity. 

Our  weekly  paper,  in  order  that  it  might  give 
an  account  of  the  "Dastardly  Attempt,"  and  so 
forth,  had  delayed  going  to  press,  but  it  was 
out  now,  and  I  was  the  hero  in  a  column  of 
type,  with  a  picture  that  might  have  been  taken 
for  the  blackened  impression  of  a  horse's  hoof. 
The  details  had  been  known  to  the  town  long 
before  the  paper  was  printed,  and  the  'Squire 
and  the  Judge  and  Uncle  This  and  Uncle  That 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STARS.   14$ 

had  congratulated  me  upon  my  escape,  but  af 
ter  the  paper  appeared  they  came  'round  to  con 
gratulate  me  again.  One  old  friend  said  that 
it  would  do  me  a  "power"  of  good  among  the 
people.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  always 
can  tell  the  reason  why,  by  illustration,  and 
he  told :  At  one  time,  away  back  in  the  forties, 
he  was  a  candidate  for  constable,  with  the 
chances  against  him ;  but  on  the  day  before  the 
contest  at  the  polls  he  was  called  upon  to  de 
fend  himself  -against  a  fellow  who  sought  his 
life — and  was  elected.  Sam,  in  his  droll  way, 
said :  "Why,  the  fellow  you  fought  must  have 
been  the  opposing  candidate  and  you  must  have 
killed  him.  Of  course  you  were  elected."  This 
didn't  displease  the  old  man.  It  was  an  honor 
to  have  come  victorious  out  of  a  fight,  and  if 
a  man  had  been  killed,  it  was  his  own  fault, 
an  error  of  judgment. 

Mr.  Carson  came  in  and  said  that  he  wished 
to  see  me  for  a  moment  and  I  went  over  to  the 
window  with  him,  my  heart  beating  fast,  but 
it  was  soon  eased  back  to  the  measured  stroke 

of  peace.     He  said  that  Zaleme  would  drive 
10 


146  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

into  town  about  sunset  and  that  she  would  be 
pleased  to  have  me  accompany  her  home.  I 
squeezed  the  old  fellow's  gnarly  hand  and — 
caught  Sam  Hall's  eye,  the  eye  of  soft  solici 
tude. 

The  time  was  long,  but  she  came  at  last,  driv 
ing  upon  the  public  square,  and  I  got  into  the 
buggy,  and  we  followed  a  road  that  led  toward 
the  pink  in  the  western  sky.  Along  the  road 
were  hedges  of  Cherokee  rose,  and  out  of 
them  came  a  sweet  coolness.  And  now  there 
was  but  the  faintest  blush  in  the  pearl  cheek  of 
the  horizon.  Why  has  man's  mind  progressed 
so  far,  and  why  has  that  something,  that  sense 
which  he  calls  his  soul,  remained  in  primitive 
meshes?  Why  can't  the  soul  break  loose  and 
hurl  itself  into  that  light  almost  red  up  yon 
der? 

"And  probably  it  would  be  caught  in  a  trap 
if  it  did,"  she  remarked;  and  I  was  startled, 
for  I  had  been  thinking  aloud. 

"It  might  as  well  be  caught  in  a  trap  there 
as  here." 

"But  it  isn't  caught  in  a  trap  here,"  she  said. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STARS.    147 

"It  is  held  here  for  a  time,  it  is  true,  but  it 
goes  home.  Am  I  old  fashioned  to  talk  that 
way  ?  Does  it  seem  odd  to  you  ?" 

I  said  no,  and  she  replied :  "But  you  seem 
surprised." 

"It  may  be  that  faith  is  beautiful  and  that 
we  are  often  surprised  at  beauty,"  I  replied. 

"Oh,  thank  you.  But  I  think  that  there  is 
more  religion  now  than  ever  before.  Though 
why  should  we  talk  about  such  things?" 

"An  unconscious  effort  to  discover  each  oth 
er's  tastes,"  said  I.  "We  see  it  in  the  case  of 
a  boy  and  a  girl  'keeping  company'  for  the 
first  time.  They  are  embarrassed  and  they 
sputter,  but  unconsciously  they  discover." 

"Yes,  that  may  be  very  true,  but  why  so  in 
this  instance,  when  we  may  not  see  each  other 
again  ?" 

"You  said  you  were  coming  back  during  the 
meeting  of  the  legislature  to  congratulate  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  so  I  did ;  but  I  had  forgotten  it," 
and  after  a  pause  she  added :  "Mr.  Howard- 
son,  I  often  find  myself  surprised  to  realize 
that  I  may  number  you  among  my  friends.  You 


148  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

are  so  widely  known,  and  are  going  to  be  so 
prominent  and  I  .am  so  obscure.  But  after  all 
what  surprises  me  most  is  that  I  cease  to  be 
surprised.  I  suppose  that  woman  accepts  as 
her  natural  right  any  attention  that  a  man 
pays  to  her.  But  what  serious  nonsense  I'm 
talking.  And  isn't  it  true  that  solemn  non 
sense  is  the  worst  of  all?  When  I  begin  to 
take  myself  seriously  it  most  always  ends  with 
a  headache.  So  after  all,  it  is  the  physical 
seeking  to  predominate.  What  a  delight  I 
wrould  be  this  evening  to  my  old  preceptress — 
with  my  big  words.  Isn't  the  air  delicious  ?" 
She  was  driving,  and  when  she  turned  into 
a  lane,  to  the  right,  I  came  within  one  of  cry 
ing  out :  "Oh,  we  are  not  there  yet !"  meaning 
the  place  of  the  sunset.  She  continued  to  talk, 
gayer  than  I  had  ever  known  her,  and  that, 
too,  with  our  parting  moment  so  near.  How 
I  wished  that  the  storm  of  the  night 
before  had  held  back,  to  burst  upon  us  now. 
What  a  joy  to  have  wrapped  the  buggy 
robe  about  her  and  to  feel  that  she  and  I  were 
alone  in  the  wind  and  the  rain.  She  must 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  STARS.   149 

have  gone  over  the  course  before,  for  with 
another  turn  we  were  driving  toward  Carson's 
house ;  and  I  wondered  if  we  were  to  sit  upon 
the  veranda,  with  the  old  man  constantly  in 
truding;  but  if  we  had  nothing  to  say,  what  dif 
ference  should  it  make?  She  felt  that  it  was 
an  honor  to  number  me  among  her  friends,  and 
yet  she  stood  off  so  cool  a  friend  as  to  give  no 
meed  of  her  confidence.  But  if  she  really  lived 
and  worshiped  in  the  past,  why  should  I  care 
for  her  confidence? 

We  sat  alone  upon  the  veranda,  and  she  was 
just  as  gay  as  she1  had  been  out  on  the  road, 
a  trailing  vine  bursting  into  constant  bloom; 
and  if  I  thought  of  anything  serious  I  did  not 
utter  it.  At  last  the  time  to  say  good-bye  was 
come.  An  old  clock  had  struck  a  late  hour, 
had  echoed  it  throughout  the  house  for  empha 
sis,  and  all  lights,  save  one  in  the  parlor,  were 
out,  and  that  one,  seen  through  the  window, 
looked  dim,  tired  and  sleepy. 

"Why  have  you  been  so  lively  to-night?"  I 
asked,  and  in  my  voice  there  must  have  been 
a  tone  of  reproach. 


150  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Have  I  been  lively?  Really  I  didn't  know 
it.  I  thought  I  had  been  particularly  stupid." 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  your  mother  good-bye  for 
me.  I  didn't  forget  it,  but  neglected  it." 

"Yes,  I  will.  Oh,  did  you  see  that  star,  how 
far  it  shot!" 

"Who  knows  but  it  was  a  thought  shooting 
from  the  mind  of  some  genius  in  the  heavens?" 

"Shooting  at  some  man's  spirit  with  an  idea 
and  missing  him,"  she  laughed.  "But  I  hope 
that  when  the  gods  shoot  in  your  behalf  at 
the  legislature  they'll  not  miss — a  bad  figure 
but  a  good  intention,  Mr.  Howardson.  I 
hardly  know  what  I'm  saying — oh,  must  you 
go  now?"  She  went  with  me  to  the  steps  and 
we  halted  there,  and  the  starlight  was  in  her 
eyes,  as  she  looked  at  me.  I  took  her  hand 
and  held  it  for  a  moment,  releasing  it  of  my 
own  will,  for  she  made  no  effort  to  withdraw  it. 
Dumbness  fell  upon  me;  I  could  not  speak  a 
word,  and  I  stood  in  silence — a  silence  without 
embarrassment,  a  sublime  stillness  that  seemed 
to  have  come  down  out  of  the  quiet  air.  And  so 
I  left  her  with  the  light  of  the  stars  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   CRY  FOR  COMPANY. 

In  the  strenuous  work  of  the  campaign  I 
found  a  sort  of  rest,  almost  a  relief.  There 
were  physical  weariness,  and  sound  sleep,  and 
in  sleep  fleeting  pictures,  but  no  slow-moving 
dreams  to  inspire  and  awake  a  dread  to  go  to 
sleep  again.  And  the  campaign  liar  arose  with 
his  enlivening  diversity.  In  a  country  news 
paper  old  Vox  Populi  declared  that  during  a 
dinner  I  had  drunk  wine  unto  drunkenness, 
and  the  prohibitionists  cried  "shame."  But 
the  edition  of  the  same  newspaper  set  forth  a 
charge  more  serious,  appealing,  as  it  did,  to 
a  larger  class,  that  away  back'  in  the  kind  and 
screening  past  I  had  published  a  volume  of 
verses.  It  was  not  enough  to  assure  my 
accuser  that  the  verses  had  been  printed  only 
151 


152  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

for  private  circulation ;  he  replied  that  the  pri 
vate  circulation  happened  to  be  a  condition 
rather  than  a  foresight.  And  still  another, 
as  truth-hating  a  wretch  as  ever  walked  in 
leather,  spoke  of  the  "Rehearsed  Attempt  at 
Assassination."  But  for  the  most  part  even 
my  enemies  were  kind,  or  silent,  at  least;  and 
in  the  intoxicating  exercise  of  physical  vigor, 
long  walks  of  mornings  and  of  evenings,  I 
found  myself  throwing  off  the  effect  of  a 
blood  poisoning,  a  heart  poison.  During  a 
tour  that  lasted  three  weeks,  Old  Sam  was 
with  me  as  manager.  The  fact  is  that  his 
notion  of  politics  was  vague  and  clouded,  but 
he  was  proud  to  be  a  manager  and  as  there 
was  nothing  to  manage,  I  let  him  manage. 
And  sometimes  I  heard  him  prowling  about 
at  all  hours  of  the  night,  managing;  and  if 
I  showed  remonstrating  signs  he  would  say: 
"Now,  that's  all  very  well,  but  there  are  cer 
tain  things  that  we've  got  to  get  in  hand.  You 
don't  need  to  worry — you  sleep.  All  youVe 
got  to  do  is  to  meet  the  people.  I'll  do  the 
rest."  Once  I  hinted  that  business  at  home 


A  CRY    FOR    COMPANY         153 

might  be  in  need  of  his  attention.  He  had 
lost  none  of  his  sickroom  tenderness,  and 
touching  my  arm  softly  he  said :  "My  dear 
fellow,  the  most  important  business  on  hand 
at  present  is  the  business  of  sending  you  to 
the  Senate.  Just  have  a  little  patience — I  am 
doing  the  very  best  I  can." 

Hotze  met  us  one  night,  and  his  oily  famil 
iarity  did  not  assuage  the  dreariness  of  the 
village  tavern.  Sam  took  an  instantaneous 
photograph  of  him  and  did  not  like  the  pic 
ture.  Hotze  began  at  once  to  make  sugges 
tions,  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  Sam 
was  manager. 

"Sir,"  said  Sam,  "I  doubt  whether  you  have 
ever  studied  the  science  of  politics." 

Hotze  was  sitting  on  my  bed.  It  makes  no 
difference  how  many  chairs  there  may  be  in 
a  candidate's  room  at  a  hotel,  some  one  must 
sit  on  his  bed. 

"I  say  the  science  of  politics,"  Sam  repeated. 

"I  guess  you  are  right  there,"  Hotze  replied, 
"for  all  the  time  you're  studying  the  science 
you're  missing  politics.  I  know  what  elec- 


154  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

tions  are,  I  can  tell  you  that.  And  I  read 
newspapers  as  much  as  anybody,  and  that's 
where  you  get  what  the  people  are  thinking 
about." 

"But  we  don't  elect  senators  as  we  do  alder 
men,"  said  Sam. 

"Think  not  ?  Well,  there  is  a  difference,  but 
it's  work  among  the  boys  at  last  and  the  boys 
control  the  legislature." 

Sam  sneered.  Hotze  held  forth  a  black 
cigar.  Sam  shook  his  head:  "Thank  you, 
I  don't  smoke." 

"Wife  object?"  Hotze  asked,  handing  the 
cigar  to  me. 

"No,  heart  objects." 

"That  so?  Didn't  think  it  made  any  dif 
ference  with  the  heart — and  let  me  see,  seems 
as  if  I  heard  some  one  say  you  claimed  your 
heart  was  dead  anyhow." 

Sam's  eyes  seemed  to  fly  into  mine.  "Sam," 
said  I,  speaking  quickly,  "you  know  Haney, 
over  at  San  Antonio;  and  at  a  time  when  you 
were  dejected,  you  must  have  talked  freely 
to  him.  Mr.  Haney  and  Mr.  Hotze  meet  often, 


A  CRY    FOR    COMPANY.        155 

met  once  especially  when  Haney  requested 
me  to  give  his  regards  to  you — and  it  was 
then  that  I  with  the  kindliest " 

"I  understand,  Lucian,"  he  said,  relieving 
me  of  an  explanation  that  was  entangling  me. 

"Yes,  you  bet  I  know  Haney  all  right," 
Hotze  spoke  up ;  "and  he  said  something  about 
some  woman  trouble — and  I  told  him  of  a 
woman  affair  I  had,  and  you  bet  she  tattooed 
a  picture  on  my  breast  that  represented  St. 
George  and  the  Dragoon  and " 

Sam  fell  back  with  a  loud  laugh  and  Hotze 
stared  at  him,  not  wounded  but  surely  aston 
ished.  "Oh,  it's  a  fact,"  said  he.  "Nobody 
might  have  been  able  to  see  the  picture,  but 
I'll  swear  I  could  feel  it  there.  Fact." 

In  all  sincerity  Sam  begged  pardon  for  his 
rudeness,  and  Hotze  said,  "Oh,  everything's 
all  right.  But  getting  back  to  the  original 
proposition,"  he  continued,  "let  me  say,  and 
I  hope  without  offense,  that  my  experience 
tells  me  you're  in  the  kindergarten.  Wait  a 
minute.  I  can  see  that  this  is  about  the  first 


156  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

time  you  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  a  cam 
paign." 

"Sir!"  Sam  cried  with  bristles  rising,  "I 
don't  want  any  insinuations  and  what's  niore, 
I  won't  have  any.  Put  that  in  your  pipe 
along  with  your  wealth  of  political  wisdom  and 
smoke  it." 

Hotze  withdrew  soon  afterward  and  Sam, 
after  walking  up  and  down  the  room  for  a 
time,  halted  in  front  of  me  and  said:  "If 
you  want  me  to  throw  up  the  management  of 
this  campaign  just  speak  the  word  and  I'll 
return  home  to-night.  If  you  think  that  por 
poise  can  manage  it  better  than  I  can,  all  right. 
One  word's  enough." 

"Why,  old  man,"  I  replied,  "Barnum  could 
never  have  managed  a  show  better  than  you 
manage 

He  grasped  my  hand.  "Lucian,  I  thank 
you  for  those  generous  words,  proceeding 
largely  from  a  kindliness  of  spirit,  let  us 
acknowledge,  but  most  grateful,  I  assure  you. 
I  am  glad  you  have  faith  in  me,  that  you  can 
find  support  in  me,  for  we  are  face  to  face 


A  CRY    FOR    COMPANY.        157 

with  a  difficult  issue.  But  have  faith.  The 
fight  is  almost  won." 

How  he  had  changed  since  I  had  made  my 
"confession !"  Before  then  he  was  cool,  with  a 
Hobbes-like  dryness,  with  his  sharp,  three- 
cornered  smile.  And  now  he  seemed  like  a 
child,  wanting  to  be  petted.  On  the  day  after 
meeting  Hotze  we  were  in  a  buggy  driving 
across  the  country. 

"I  suppose  you  have  written  to  her,"  said 
Sam. 

"No.  To  tell  you  the  truth  she's  not  in  my 
mind  as — harassingly  as  she  was.  I  find  that 
I'm  almost  as  strong  as  I  was  after  Viola 
Morgan  married  the  cattleman." 

He  was  driving  and  the  lines  became  sudden 
ly  loose  in  his  hand,  but  he  gathered  them  up 
and  said:  "Lucian,  I  hope  you  don't  mean 
that." 

"Why  ?     Do  you  want  to  see  me  suffer  ?" 

"No ;  but  I  want  to  see  that  you  have  a  stead 
fast  heart." 

"So  that  you  may  think  more  of  me  or  of 
your  own  judgment — which?" 


158      .    •       IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Now  you  are  shilly-shallying.  I  know  that 
you  were  in  a  great  trouble,  a  trouble  that 
shakes  a  man  as  a  storm  does  a  tree — and  if 
you  are  forgetting  it,  why,  I'm  sorry,  Lucian." 

"But,  Sam,  she  loves  a  memory — a  shadow." 

"You  don't  know  that — you  did  not  ask 
her." 

"I  didn't  need  to — I  saw." 

"But  all  this  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  you 
were  in  a  deep  trouble  and  that  now  you  are 
in  a  shallow  indifference." 

"Let  me  ask  you  again:  do  you  want  me 
to  suffer?" 

"And  let  me  tell  you  again  that  I  want  to 
feel  that  you  are  steadfast." 

"Sam,  a  man  may  have  a  disease  that  threat 
ens  to  blight  him  and  a  certain  reserve  force 
in  his  constitution  may  at  last  throw  off  the 
disease.  Would  you  accuse  that  man  of  not 
being  steadfast?" 

"Oh,  if  you  want  to  be  ridiculous,  all  right. 
By  the  way,  I  shall  be  forced  to  go  home  to 
morrow.  I  have  received  a  letter  that  demands 
my  return.  But  understand  that  I  am  always 


A  CRY    FOR    COMPANY.        159 

ready  with  my  advice  if  not  with  my  active 
services." 

He  went  home  a  jaded  man,  as  if  all  the 
weariness  of  the  campaign  had  suddenly  come 
upon  him.  His  heart  was  not  wholly  dead. 
There  was  in  it  life  enough  to  cry  for  com 
pany. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

FOUND  NO  SOOTHING  MEMORIES. 

Not  long  after  his  return  home  Old  Sam 
wrote  to  me.  "How  goes  the  work  of  'Woo 
ing  poor  craftsmen  with  the  craft  of  smiles/  ' 
said  he.  "Of  course  you  must  surely  find 
some  little  pleasure  in  the  excitement  of  the 
struggle,  and  sometimes  I'm  afraid  that  such 
may  be  your  only  recompense.  I  don't  want 
to  discourage  you,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  me 
that  your  chances  are  quite  so  good  as  they 
were.  And  how  things  are  exaggerated !  I 
met  a  man  the  other  day  who  said  you  had 
written  a  book  of  obscene  songs.  This  from 
that  pretty  little  volume  of  verses  intended  for 
friends.  Another  feHow  said  that  'flown  with 
insolence  and  wine'  you  had  entered  a  saloon, 

knocked  down  the  bartender  and  smashed  the 
rib 


NO    SOOTHING   MEMORIES.     161 

mirrors.  And  this  from  the  fact  that  you 
had  tasted  a  farmer's  home-made  wine  and 
pronounced  it  good,  which  I  am  ready  to  swear 
it  was  not." 

Hovering  over  the  ashes  of  his  heart,  the 
old  man  was  again  a  cynic.  Of  me  he  could 
hear  naught  but  evil,  and  for  me  he  could 
see  nothing  but  defeat.  And  all  because  I  had 
been  strong  enough  to  climb  out  of  the  black 
hole  of  despair.  But  why  did  I,  while  thus 
musing,  halt,  startled,  at  the  corner  of  a  vil 
lage  street?  A  perfume  had  come  floating 
upon  the  air,  not  of  any  flower  I  had  known, 
but  a  scent  that  had  thrilled  me  when  I  was 
with  her.  And  with  my  senses  swimming, 
gasping,  I  stood  as  if  dazed,  and  my  heart  arose 
and  with  suffocating  strokes  beat  in  my  throat. 
Ah,  it  had  not  been  cured  by  strength  of  will ; 
it  had  been  stunned  by  a  blow  and  now  con 
sciousness  was  returning. 

I  stood  in  a  courthouse,  in  the  presence 
of  "fellow  countrymen" ;  and  striving  to 
reason,  felt  that  I  was  justifying  a  criti 
cism — talking  in  images,  a  child  playing  with 
11 


162  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

picture  blocks.  After  two  other  engagements 
to  speak  I  was  to  go  back  to  Riplar;  and  the 
prospect  of  rest  was  soothing.  But  when  the 
time  was  at  hand  I  shuddered  to  think  of  re 
turning  to  the  place  where  last  I  had  seen  her. 
And  so  thus  I  wrote  to  Old  Sam :  "I  have 
reached  what  I  have  looked  forward  to  as  a 
breathing  spell,  but  the  air  is  not  so  clear  as 
I  had  expected  to  find  it,  nor  does  the  breath 
ing  bring  me  rest.  You  have  been  outspoken 
with  me,  to  the  very  verge  of  harshness,  and 
I  will  speak  out  to  you.  It  has  all  come  back 
to  me,  a  perfume  in  the  air,  and  I  am  more 
than  wretched.  So  I  need  a  rest  more  sooth 
ing  than  the  mere  giving  up  of  work.  I  have 
year  after  year  dreamed  of  my  old  home  in 
Tennessee  and  in  my  memory  it  lies  there 
now  just  as  it  was  when  I  was  taken  from  it 
many  years  ago.  Quietly  I  am  going  to  steal 
back  there  and  wander  up  and  down  the  old 
Cumberland  river." 

I  set  forth  the  next  day,  and  how  short  was 
the  span  that  marked  the  distance  between 
my  new  and  my  old  home.  Hardly  could  I 


NO   SOOTHING  MEMORIES.    163 

realize  that  I  walked  about  the  limestone  streets 
of  Nashville,  which  years  ago  looked  as  ancient 
as  the  military  roads  of  Rome.  A  half  tearful 
memory  pointed  out  familiar  objects,  old  brass 
door  knockers,  bronze  lions;  and  here  was  a 
block  of  stone  on  which  I  had  seen  a 
slave  stand  to  be  sold.  I  walked  up  the  river 
toward  my  old  home,  not  far  from  the  Hermit 
age  of  Andrew  Jackson,  and  looked  back  at 
the  town,  my  eye  full  of  the  spirit  of  long 
ago.  I  loitered  along  the  banks  of  the  beau 
tiful  river,  but  from  the  valley  where  the  grass 
was  fresh  there  floated  a  reminding  perfume 
and  I  hastened  onward,  coming  suddenly  upon 
the  old  house,  now  almost  in  ruins,  deserted 
and  with  cattle  lowing  about  it.  And  where 
were  the  soothing  memories  which  I  had  ex 
pected  to  find,  lying  like  cool  and  refreshing 
shadows  upon  this  sacred  land?  Weary  and 
downhearted  I  returned  to  the  city.  I  went 
to  an  opera,  sat  beside  an  old  fellow  who 
doubtless  had  come  down  the  river  on  a  raft; 
and  turning  to  me  he  said :  "Will  you  be  so 
kind  and  obligin'  as  to  give  me  your  opinion 


164  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

as  to  how  long  you  reckon  it  will  be  before 
they  begin  to  hit  the  tune." 

"They  are  in  the  midst  of  it  now." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  Well,  if  they  don't 
git  better  pretty  soon  I'll  have  to  leave." 

He  annoyed  me  and  with  impatience  I  turned 
about  in  my  seat.  But  what  was  he  saying? 

"Don't  think  I  can  stay  till  she  is  out  nohow. 
Got  to  take  a  train  at  ten  o'clock  for  Bowl 
ing  Green,  Kentucky;  and  they  tell  me  it's  a 
good  long  ways  from  here,  eighty  odd  miles." 

I  don't  know  whether  or  not  he  was  on  that 
train,  but  I  was,  a  restless  and  eager  passenger. 
And  now  I  realized  what  undoubtedly  I  knew 
before,  that  I  had  not  left  Texas  to  find  rest 
amid  the  scenes  of  long  ago,  that  the  cause 
lay  in  ambush  in  my  heart,  that  by  devious 
paths  I  was  going  to  her. 

The  train  stopped  on  a  siding  to  let  another 
train  pass,  and  I  caught  the  talk  of  two  men 
who  occupied  a  seat  in  front  of  me.  "Not 
only  that,  a  man  will  lie  to  himself  and  insist 
in  honestly  believing  it,"  said  one  of  the  men, 
as  if  he  had  taken  up  the  thread  of  my  musing. 


NO    SOOTHING   MEMORIES.    165 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "and  pretends  to 
be  surprised  when  he  finds  that  he's  lying/' 

"All  the  education  in  the  world  wouldn't 
place  him  much  beyond  himself;  he's  hardly 
ever  broad  enough  not  to  talk  about  his  chil 
dren." 

"Or  his  disease — the  number  of  nights  it 
has  been  since  he's  slept." 

"Or  to  believe  that  no  matter  how  much  a 
woman  may  have  loved  he  can  inspire " 

A  train  rushed  by  and  I  lost  the  end  of  his 
sentence,  but  the  part  which  I  had  caught  ran 
through  my  mind,  the  words  repeating  time 
and  time  again.  And  I  wondered  if  what  he 
said  was  really  to  be  numbered  among  the 
many  vanities  of  man,  all  the  time  meaning 
myself,  of  course;  and  then  it  came  upon  me 
that  he  had  echoed  a  truth  known  throughout 
the  ages.  But  did  I  believe  that  I  could  inspire 
within  her  breast  a  greater  love  than  she  had 
ever  felt  before;  and  if  I  thought  that  she  did 
not  feel  such  a  love  would  I  care  to — marry 
her?  Oh^how  tired  I  was  of  asking  a  ques- 


i66  IN    THE    ALAMO. 

tion  of  myself  and  looking  to  myself  for  the 
answer. 

The  train  arrived  at  Bowling  Green  long 
before  daylight  and,  contemptible  in  the  eye 
of  the  cabmen,  I  walked  to  the  tavern;  and, 
domiciled  therein,  I  lay  down  to  think  and  to 
dream  of  men  shouting  proverbs  through  the 
smoke,  and  finally  of  a  perfume  which  stole 
into  the  room  and  awoke  me.  My  window 
looked  out  on  a  small  park,  thick-set  with  trees, 
and  among  the  branches  were  numerous  birds, 
almost  lyric-mad.  I  knew  something  of  the 
town,  that  the  hills  about  it  had  been  strongly 
fortified  by  the  Confederates  during  the  Civil 
War,  that  it  was  on  a  tongue  shooting  out 
from  the  blue  grass  region — famous  for  fine 
horses,  whiskey,  handsome  women  and  game 
men. 

When  I  went  down  to  breakfast  the  land 
lord  could  have  devised  no  means  of  surprising 
me  more  than  he  did,  when  he  handed  to  me 
a  letter  from  Sam  Hall.  "I  know  where  you 
are  or  where  you  will  be/'  said  the  old  fel 
low,  "and  I  send  this  in  care  of  the  principal 


NO   SOOTHING  MEMORIES.   167 

hotel  of  the  place,  presuming  of  course  that 
it  will  reach  you.  Don't  worry  about  things 
here,  for  everything  is  going  well  and  if  you 
are  not  elected,  the  whole  State  will  rise  up 
and  demand  to  know  the  reason  why.  But 
you  are  going  to  be  elected.  My  judgment, 
and  I  believe  that  you  have  cause  to  put  faith 
in  it,  persists  in  telling  me  so.  Ah,  my  dear 
friend,  I  couldn't  believe  that  your  heart  had 
been  so  shallow.  Take  any  other  view  of  man 
which  may  suit  your  fancy,  this  truth  still 
stands  like  a  bronze  statue — that  he  is  never 
complete  until  the  grand  passion  comes  upon 
him,  perhaps  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  and 
that  when  it  has  come  he  is  never  the  same 
afterward.  Understand,  I  don't  believe  that 
it  comes  to  all  men;  but  when  it  does  come 
and  is  thrown  off,  as  I  thought  yours  had  been 
thrown  off,  it  argues  a  vacillating  heart  and 
a  soul  but  dimly  lighted.  This  has  established 
itself  as  a  sort  of  philosophy  with  me,  and 
knowing  it,  you  do  not  wonder  that  I  changed 
so  suddenly  toward  you  not  long  ago.  God 


168  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

knows  I  pray  for  your  heart  a  different  fate 
than  the  one  which  overtook  mine;  and  I  ad 
vise  you  not  to  give  up  but  to  continue  to 
fight.  Don't  accept  no;  don't  permit  yourself 
to  become  weak;  don't  falter  over  the  possi 
bility  that  she  has  loved  desperately  in  the 
past.  I  know  that  man  has  but  one  grand 
passion;  I  believe  that  a  woman  may  have 
two.  To  most  men  this  may  appear  as  a  fal 
lacy,  but  it  seems  to  have  been  revealed  to  me 
as  in  a  dream  that  came  true." 

Was  it  impossible  for  me  to  get  beyond  the 
range  of  Old  Sam's  preaching  ?  I  confess  that 
now  and  then  he  whimsically  hit  upon  a  truth. 
But  I  resented  the  fact  that  he  had  appointed 
himself  the  censor  of  the  heart  of  man. 
Woman  may  have  two  grand  passions !  That 
was  all  very  well,  but  I  did  not  care  to  inspire 
a  second  grand  passion.  I  wanted  to  learn,  to 
know,  that  a  former  passion  was  to  be  classed 
among  the  lesser  ones.  I  was  determined  to 
demand,  to  seize  this  knowledge;  I  was 
stronger  now  than  when  I  last  had  seen  her. 


NO   SOOTHING  MEMORIES.    169 

"Ah,  landlord,  what  road  shall  I  take  to 
Mr.  Acklin's?" 

"The  Drake's  Creek  pike.  Any  one  can 
show  you." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

LISTENING  FOR  THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF. 

The  farm  lay  along  the  creek,  about  three 
miles  from  town,  and  I  preferred  to  walk. 
The  way  was  easy  and  the  prospect  a  delight, 
the  brown  turnpike,  the  green  hills,  the  ven 
erable  trees,  the  leaping  brooks.  The  land, 
crossed  here  and  there  with  gray  stone  fences, 
looked  old,  not  worn  and  gullied,  but  possessed 
of  a  dreamy  charm,  lying  under  the  softening 
and  indefinable  tints  of  time.  How  buoyant 
and  breast-filling  was  the  air;  how  one  was 
almost  impelled  to  run  down  a  hill,  and  shout 
ing  like  a  boy,  leap  across  a  brook.  The  wood 
pecker  flashed  his  flaming  scarlet,  and  the  blue 
bird,  as  if  to  soften  the  impudent  glare,  flew 
in  his  wake.  Deep  in  a  miniature  valley  where 

the  ground   was   moist,    stood   an   army-like 
170 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       171 

array  of  tall  weeds,  and  a  breeze  stirring,  the 
captain  and  his  host  saluted  me  with  a  nod 
ding  of  their  plumes.  On  a  hill  an  old  log 
house  was  mouldering  into  dust,  the  fort-home 
of  the  dauntless  pioneer.  From  a  mansion 
on  another  hill  near  by  came  the  notes  of  a 
piano,  the  pioneer's  great-great-granddaughter 
sullenly  and  perforce  perfecting  herself  in  the 
art  of  nerve  torture. 

I  halted  at  a  fence  and  looked  at  the  ripples 
running  across  a  field  of  heading  wheat. 
From  a  nest  in  a  bush  a  young  bird  stretched 
its  fuzzy  neck  and  cried  for  food  and  its  cry 
was  not  in  vain,  for  soon  its  mother  was  there 
with  nourishment,  and  with  a  song,  when  with 
discerning  eye  she  saw  that  I  meant  no  harm. 

How  sweet  the  soft  wind  from  that  wooded 
slope !  And  how  inspiriting  that  blooded  colt, 
wallowing  in  the  clover  and  racing  across  the 
meadow  with  blooms  tangled  in  his  mane. 
Who  could  not  be  bold  in  such  an  atmosphere ! 
How  glad  I  was  that  I  came.  Why,  even 
the  deliciousness  of  that  deep  breath  on  the 
brow  of  the  shaded  hill  was  more  than  gener- 


172  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ous  payment  for  all  the  weariness  of  the  trip. 
I  sat  down  on  a  rock  and  read  old  Sam's 
letter.  But  it  was  too  morbid  to  be  mused 
over  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place.  Of 
a  boy  loitering  along  the  road  I  inquired  the 
distance  to  the  Acklin  farm,  and  he  answered, 
"On  top  of  the  second  hill,  just  this  side  the 
creek."  I  pushed  onward,  growing  stronger, 
climbing  the  hill  with  an  ease  and  lightness 
that  surprised  me;  and  at  the  top  a  red  brick 
house  leaped  into  view,  and  a  trembling  weak 
ness  came  upon  me  and  my  knees  shook.  It 
was  the  overexertion ;  I  had  been  too  free 
with  my  strength;  I  would  soon  recover,  and 
I  sat  upon  a  bank  by  the  roadside,  but  con 
tinued  to  tremble  and  to  shudder  as  if  with 
the  cold.  Ah,  it  was  the  black  cigar  I  had 
smoked  while  musing  over  the  rippling  wheat. 
Afar  off  beyond  the  house  I  could  see  the 
white  branches  of  sycamores,  gleaming  in  the 
sun;  and  the  sun  was  warm,  but  I  shivered. 
I  tried  to  laugh  at  myself  but  my  teeth  chat 
tered.  But  even  an  attempt  at  self-ridicule 
is  often  salutary,  and  thus  I  found  it,  for 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.      173 

suddenly  I  was  strong  again.  Yes,  it  was  the 
black  cigar.  But  I  noticed  an  increase  of 
strength  down  in  the  valley  out  of  sight  of 
the  house,  and  a  corresponding  decrease  as 
again  I  came  within  sight  of  the  place.  With 
out  a  sidewise  glance  I  walked  past  the  house 
and  halting  on  the  stone  bridge,  arching  the 
creek,  leaned  over  the  parapet  and  gazed  into 
the  water.  I  heard  a  guinea  hen  on  the  hill, 
the  defiant  challenge  of  a  game  cock;  and  I 
thought  of  the  turkey  gobbler  that  strutted  at 
the  heels  of  old  man  Carson.  I  looked  up 
at  the  house  and  saw  tall  lilacs  standing  high 
above  the  garden  wall.  A  blue  curtain  flut 
tered  at  a  dormer-window.  The  burnished  tip 
of  a  lightning  rod  shot  me  in  the  eye  with  a 
sun-arrow.  Why  had  not  some  one  hailed 
me  as  I  passed  ?  Where  was  the  boasted  hos 
pitality  of  Kentucky?  I  walked  back  and 
would,  I  verily  believe,  have  passed  a  second 
time,  but  for  the  appearance  of  a  woman  at 
the  gate — Mrs.  Acklin.  And  I  marched  up 
to  her  and  she  knew  me  in  an  instant  and  ap 
peared  glad  to  see  me. 


174  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"But  how  surprised  I  am,"  she  said  when  we 
had  shaken  hands. 

"Yes,  I  am  surprised  myself.  I — the  fact 
is,  I  had  to  go  to  my  old  home  to  settle  the 
affairs  of  a  delinquent  estate,  and  suddenly 
found  that  my  duty  called  me  to  this  neigh 
borhood." 

"And  I  am  very  much  pleased  that  it  did. 
Come  in." 

She  knew  that  I  would  prefer  to  sit  in  the 
airy  cool  of  the  veranda,  and  she  drew  for 
ward  a  large  rocking  chair,  with  a  seat  of 
split  hickory;  she  brought  a  palm-leaf  fan, 
edged  with  green  ribbon,  talking  constantly 
the  while,  telling  me  how  pleased  she  was  to 
see  me;  but  confound  it,  did  she  live  here 
alone  ?  Where  were  the  other  members  of  the 
family  ?  She  clipped  off  a  rose  that  was  nod 
ding  in  a  morning  nap,  and  pinned  it  on  my 
coat.  She  called  a  negro  girl  and  ordered 
for  me  a  tumbler  of  water  fresh  from  the  well. 

"I  am  very  anxious  for  you  to  meet  Mr. 
Acklin,"  she  said.  "Zaleme  has  told  him  a 
great  deal  about  you,  but  he  knew  of  you  any- 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       175 

way,  as  he  keeps  very  close  track  of  the 
speeches  made  in  Congress,  and  he  is  pleased 
to  know  that  you  are  going  to  the  Senate. 
He's  out  somewhere  but  is  likely  to  be  back 
at  any  moment." 

No  doubt  of  it,  but  where  was  that  young 
woman?  By  what  peculiar  perversity  was  it 
that  I  was  thus  denied  all  information  of  her? 
She  might  be  yachting  on  Lake  Superior  for 
all  I  had  been  able  to  learn. 

"You  are  all  well,  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Acklin." 
"Oh,  yes,  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  I 
had  a  slight  attack  of  rheumatism  some  time 
ago,  but  it  soon  passed  off.  Mr.  Acklin  de 
clared  that  it  was  all  my  own  fault.  He  is 
a  vegetarian." 

"Is  Miss  Zaleme's  health  good?" 
"Yes,  very  good,  indeed.     She  went  fish 
ing  with  a  party  of  friends  not  long  ago  and 
caught  a  slight  cold,  but  it  yielded  to  treat 
ment." 

"If  I  remember  rightly  she  is  fond  of  home ; 
that  is  to  say,  she  doesn't  go  visiting  very 
often." 


176  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Yes,  very  fond  of  home.  She  doesn't 
really  go  out  enough.  It's  so  warm,  and  you 
have  walked  so  far  in  the  sun.  Won't  you 
have  some  more  water?" 

"No,  thank  you.  What  a  profusion  of  flow 
ers  you  have  in  the  yard  and  what  roses !  I 
should  say  that  Miss  Zaleme  and  yourself  are 
fond  of  them." 

"Oh,  yes,  and  Mr.  Acklin,  too.  He  surely 
will  be  here  soon,  and  how  surprised  he  will 
be  to  see  you,  having  heard  so  much  about 
you,  and  of  course  not  expecting  you." 

Strong  within  me  was  the  desire  to  say, 
"Madam,  I  am  tired  of  this  senseless  skirmish. 
Where  the  deuce  is  that  daughter  of  yours?" 
but  I  didn't ;  I  gave  her  a  sickly  smile  and  said 
"yes." 

"How  long  do  you  expect  your  business  to 
detain  you  in  this  part  of  the  country?" 

I  took  some  papers  out  of  my  pocket,  looked 
at  them  and  answered  :  "I  can't  tell  exactly ; 
am  expecting  to  get  away  in  a  few  days,  but 
it  might  possibly  be  a  month." 

"You  are  exceedingly  busy,  I  suppose?" 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       177 

"Yes,  very.  But  I  cannot  permit  the  work 
entailed  by — ahem — personal  ambition  to  in 
terfere  with  the  settlement  of  an  estate  in 
trusted  to  me  in  all — ahem,  hem — confidence." 

"Of  course  not.  I'm  sorry  that  Zaleme — 
Lucy,  oh  Lucy,  run  yonder  and  drive  the  chick 
ens  out  of  the  garden.  They  are  scratching 
up  everything." 

"You  were  going  to  say  that  you  were  sorry 
about  something." 

"Yes;  well  it  couldn't  have  been  very  im 
portant,  for  I've  forgotten  what  it  is." 

"Something  about  Miss  Zaleme,  I  believe." 

"Oh,  sure  enough.  I  was  going  to  say  I 
was  sorry  she  isn't  at  home  to " 

"At  some  eastern  seaside  ?" 

"Oh,  no;  it's  not  the  time  of  year,  and 
besides  we  never  go  there.  She  is  over  at 
Major  White's.  She  and  Miss  Rhoda  White 
are  like  sisters.  She  drove  over  this  morning 
and  is  going  to  stay  until  tomorrow." 

"Yes.  I  am  sorry,  for  I  may  get  through 
with  my  business  in  town  by  late  this  evening, 

12 


178  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

and  in  that  event  shall  be  compelled  to  start 
for  home  at  once." 

"Then  I'll  send  for  her,  for  I  know  she'll 
be  disappointed  if " 

"Oh,  no,  no.  It's  of  no  conse — I  mean  it 
wouldn't  be  right  to  break  up  her  visit." 

"Why,  she  can  go  over  there  any  time — only 
five  miles — and  besides  Rhoda  can  come  home 
with  her.  Lucy,  oh,  Lucy,  tell  Jim  to  ride 
over  to  Major  White's  and  tell  Miss  Zaleme 
to  come  home  and  bring  Miss  Rhoda  with 
her — that  Mr.  Howardson  of  Texas  is  here." 

"Madam,  I  beg  of  you " 

"Oh,  it  won't  make  any  difference  with  her, 
and  besides,  Rhoda  will  come.  Ah,  here's  Mr. 
Acklin  now." 

A  tall,  spry  old  gentleman,  pale  and  with 
grayish  mustache,  came  up  the  walk.  When 
my  name  was  mentioned  there  was  a  flush  of 
surprise  on  his  face.  The  heartiness  of  a 
hand-shake  may  be  counterfeited,  but  it  seems 
that  there  is  always  something  to  tell  us  when 
the  warmth  and  the  grip  are  just  right;  and 
I  felt  that  his  welcome  was  genuine.  He 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       179 

leaned  his  chair  back  against  the  baluster,  his 
hat  off,  the  vines  about  his  head,  a  picture 
of  refined  and  honest  manhood,  and  yet  about 
him  there  was  a  touch  of  oddity.  His  man 
ner  was  easy  and  his  talk  was  free,  and  my 
mind  could  but  dwell  upon  the  exceeding 
brightness  of  his  eye.  I  fancied  that  gradually 
he  was  drifting  toward  a  cherished  subject, 
and  so  it  proved.  From  the  state  of  his  health 
he  began  a  disquisition  upon  diet,  and  his  wife 
quietly  fled. 

"And  I  want  to  say,"  said  he,  "that  the  time 
will  come  when  no  civilized  man  will  eat  of 
food  that  has  breathed !  Why,  think  of  it — 
what  an  outrage  it  is!" 

I  thought  of  it  and  agreed  that  it  was  an 
outrage. 

"Mr.  Howardsori,  let  me  shake  hands  with 
you  again.  I  am  more  than  glad  to  welcome 
to  my  house  a  man  of  your  standing  and  abil 
ity.  Such  men,  sir,  are  needed  in  public 
places,  at  the  council  fires  of  the  nation.  It 
has  been — now  let  me  see  how  long  since  I 


i8o  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ate  meat.  Oh,  a  number  of  years,  and  since 
then  I  have  been  more  of  a  man." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"Of  course  you  haven't,  for  you  are  a  man 
of  sense,  but  there  are  others  who  are  not 
sensible.  Society  is  not  composed  of  intelli 
gence,  Mr.  Howardson.  Think  of  a  piece  of 
beef,  sir;  think  of  it." 

It  was  near  noontime  and  I  thought  of  it. 
The  old  gentleman  continued :  "The  desire 
to  eat  it  does  not  belong  so  much  to  barbarism 
as  to  cannibalism.  Don't  you  know  it?" 

I  said  that  I  knew  it.  But  it  was  hard  to 
give  him  my  attention,  for  my  mind  was  wan 
dering  up  and  down  the  turnpike,  sometimes  on 
the  bridge,  and  sometimes  in  a  tree,  it  seemed, 
seeking  to  discover  Zaleme  coming  toward  the 
house.  He  said  something  about  the  physical 
and  mental  effect  of  an  exclusive  diet  of  fruit 
and  nuts,  though  he  was  not  so  extreme  as 
to  exclude  common  vegetables,  and  bread  if 
made  properly,  and  I  gave  him  the  attention 
of  a  dull  ear,  the  other  one  quickening  with 
every  sound  that  came  from  the  road.  But 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       181 

to  prove  that  I  was  heedful,  I  asked  if  he  ate 
fish  and  for  a  moment  his  countenance 'looked 
as  if  a  neuralgic  pain  had  shot  him  in  the 
face. 

"Gracious,  no,  Mr.  Howardson.  Fish  have 
lived." 

I  was  now  like  certain  sea  fish — in  deep 
water,  and  before  realizing  it  I  had  said :  "I 
know,  but  I  mean  mackerel." 

"Mackerel,  Mr.  Howardson!  Why,  sir,  a 
mackerel  has  lived !" 

"Yes,  but  in  most  instances  it  has  been  so 
long  ago  that — that " 

"Oh,  some  of  your  drollery,  I  see.  Very 
good,  yes,  first-rate.  I  couldn't  see  what  you 
were  leading  to,  for  of  course  you  knew  that 
I  wouldn't  eat  a  fish." 

He  had  unwittingly  caught  me  at  a  mo 
ment  of  awkward  stumbling,  and  out  of  grati 
tude  I  strove  to  pay  him  more  attention,  but 
with  all  my  effort  my  spirit  wandered  off,  and 
I  heard  him  as  one  hears  the  droning  of  a 
bee.  Suddenly  there  was  but  one  sound  in 
the  world,  the  sharp  clap  of  hoofs  on  the  hard 


i&2  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

road;  and  with  forgetful  eagerness  I  sprang 
out  of  my  chair,  pulled  aside  the  vine  curtain 
and  peered  toward  the  bridge.  And  I  saw 
a  buggy  coming. 

"Has  your  horse  got  loose?"  the  old  gentle 
man  inquired.  In  the  South,  and  especially  in 
Kentucky,  when  a  man  is  seized  with  any  sud 
den  emotion  the  most  natural  inference  is  that 
his  horse  has  broken  loose. 

"Oh,  no,  I  walked." 

"Ah,  an  example  for  the  meat-eating  and 
horse-riding  young  fellows  about  here.  There 
was  a  time,  sir,  when  my  only  exercise  was  in 
racing  round  and  round  to  catch  a  horse  in 
order  to  ride  a  mile.  But  since  learning  how 
to  eat,  I  walk." 

The  buggy  drew  up  at  the  gate  and  I  began 
earnestly  to  talk  to  Mr.  Acklin,  not  even  look 
ing  down  the  walk  when  I  heard  light  foot 
steps  and  the  thrilling  tinkle  of  laughter.  And 
there  she  was  in  all  her  radiance  with  moist 
ened  lip — dew  on  a  ripening  cherry — and  eyes 
that  proved  the  glory  of  God.  In  our  sober 
moments  we  know  that  such  comparisons  can 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       183 

come  only  out  of  a  sort  of  delirium;  and  it 
was  with  awkwardness  and  a  violent  lurching, 
I  am  constrained  to  believe,  that  I  floundered 
from  the  sea  of  my  own  swimming  senses  in 
time  properly  to  realize  that  I  was  presented 
to  Miss  Rhoda  White.  And  in  an  instant  my 
fancy  seized  upon  the  belief  that  in  the  twi- 
lighted  pleasure  of  semi-despair  she  was  sigh 
ing  over  a  disappointment  of  the  heart.  Her 
face  was  pale  and  in  her  wan  smile  there  was 
an  assurance  that  it  was  the  last.  She  was 
tall  and  fragile,  and  at  times  appeared  to 
turn  her  attention  to  the  cultivation  of  a  cough, 
distressful  in  degree  as  it  claimed  a  whole  or 
a  part  of  her  energy. 

"Well,  who  would  have  thought  that  I  should 
ever  see  you  here,"  said  Zaleme,  standing  with 
her  back  toward  the  baluster,  her  hands  upon 
the  railing,  her  head  among  the  closing  blos 
soms  of  the  morning  glory  vine.  "Why,  I 
thought  you  were  out  in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 
with  your  sleeves  rolled  up — like  Uncle  Car 


son." 


(I  was  until  during  a  sort  of  armistice  when 


184  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  came  to  Nashville  and  then  to  this  place  to 
attend  to  business  of  an  important  nature." 

"Well/'  she  replied,  radiant  as  a  painting 
in  advantageous  light,  "if  I  never  were  thank 
ful  to  business  before  I  am  now." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Rhoda  White,  with 
a  sigh. 

"And  how  is  your  friend,  Mr.  Hall?" 

"Looking  up — because  he  can't  look  down 
any  deeper.  I  received  a  letter  from  him  this 
morning." 

"Did  you?  How  I  should  like  to  read  it. 
Is  it  so  private  that  you  won't  let  me  ?  Please 
let  me  read  it.  May  I?" 

"Not  now,  but  before  I  return  you — may." 

"It  will  have  to  do,  but  it  is  vague.  Isn't  it, 
Rhoda?" 

And  with  a  smile  that  came  slowly  and  faded 
quickly  away,  Rhoda  answered:  "As  vague 
as  the  mysterious  whispers  we  hear  upon  the 
mountain  side." 

Was'  this  woman  a  romantic  and  sentimental 
depressor  ?  I  would  have  been  willing  to  take 
oath  that  she  had  never  seen  a  mountain  and 


THE  SOUND  OF  A  HOOF.       185 

had  never  heard  whisperings  other  than  those 
from  the  lips  of  some  enamored  swain.  Did 
she  spin  the  silken  threads  that  bound  Zaleme 
to  the  past? 

"Dad,"  Zaleme  spoke  up,  "don't  you  remem 
ber  Miss  Gallic  Morris — married  Gus  Torey? 
I  saw  her  and  her  baby  today,  the  sweetest 
little  thing  you  ever  saw  in  your  life.  How  I 
did"  want  to  run  away  with  it !" 

"'Well,"  said  the  old  man,  laughing,  "Mr. 
Howardson  will  think  you  are  a  child-stealer." 

"I  often  feel  the  instinct  of  one.  If  the 
Church  had  never  done  anything  but  to  paint 
the  picture  of  the  Mother  and  the  Child — that 
alone  ought  to  be  enough  to  Christianize  the 
world." 

The  ringing  of  a  bell  called  us  to  the  dining 
room. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SANG  OLD  SONGS. 

At  the  head  of  the  table,  on  a  great  blue- 
bordered  dish,  there  must  have  been  at  least 
half  a  dozen  spring  chickens,  fried  by  the  su 
preme  judge  of  something  good  to  eat — an 
old  negress.  And  though  still  dazzled  and 
often  in  a  tremor  when  I  looked  at  Zaleme, 
the  walk  from  town  had  honed  my  appetite. 
I  sat  at  the  right  hand  of  Mr.  Acklin.  "This 
is  not  for  us,"  he  said  to  me,  drawing  the  dish 
of  chicken  toward  him,  "but  for  those,"  he 
added  with  a  smile,  "who  have  not  climbed 
up  to  our  level.  To  show  our  liberality  we 
do  not  banish  such  food  from  our  table. 
Rhoda,  you  want  a  wish  bone,  I  know.  Mr. 
Howardson,  here  we  have  some  very  fine  pea 
nut  butter.  I  think  you'll  like  it;  and  help 
186 


SANG  OLD  SONGS.  187 

yourself  to  this  cauliflower.  I  wouldn't  take 
too  much  salt — has  a  most  distressful  and  dry 
ing  effect  upon  the  system.  We  will  take 
some  of  this  raw  cabbage.  The  cooked  has 
been  boiled  with  meat." 

"Why,  Mr.  Howardson,"  cried  Zaleme,  "you 
didn't  tell  me  you  were  a  vegetarian." 

"Of  course  not/'  her  father  spoke  up,  "why 
should  a  man  stand  upon  a  house-top  and  shout 
a  virtue :  couldn't  you  perceive  it  from  his 
health  and  strength?" 

In  the  center  of  the  table  there  was  a  boiled 
ham,  stuck  full  of  cloves.  "What  we  call  a 
chinquepin  ham,"  said  Mr.  Acklin,  "the  hog 
having  been  fattened  upon  chinquepin  acorns; 
and  during  the  days  when  I  plodded  in  the  mire 
of  dietary  ignorance,  I  thought  it  particularly 
sweet.  But  if  the  sight  of  it  is  at  all  disagree 
able  to  you  I'll  have  it  removed." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  not  at  all." 

And  I  had  heard  my  father  talk  of  chinque 
pin  hams;  and  I  remembered  when  the  gastric 
aspiration  of  every  boy  in  the  south  was  to 
grace  his  appetite  with  a  fried  spring  chicken. 


i88  '  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Here  is  some  very  nice  dry  gluten,  Mr. 
Howardson,  and  here  is  a  dish  of  most  nutri 
tious  granola.  I  always  find  these  carbon 
crackers  most  excellent,  and  Lucy,"  he  said, 
speaking  to  the  negro  girl,  "bring  Mr.  How 
ardson  a  glass  of  milk  with  lime  water.  Well, 
sir,  you  have  no  idea  what  a  pleasure  it  gives 
me  to  welcome  you  to  my  home.  Rhoda, 
what's  the  Major  doing?" 

"Just  worrying  with  the  field  hands.  I  beg 
him  and  beg  him  to  take  things  easier  but  he 
won't." 

"Ah,  and  he  never  will  until  he  stops  eat 
ing  meat.  Why,  look  at  me,  younger  in  spirit 
and  in  mind  than  I  was  twenty-five  years,  ago. 
Help  yourself  again  to  the  dry  gluten,  Mr. 
Howardson.  It  won't  hurt  you." 

Zaleme  spoke  and  I  forgot  my  enforced 
adoption  of  the  old  man's  diet:  "You  must 
come  out  to  see  us  at  least  every  other  day 
as  long  as  your  business  keeps  you  in  this 
part  of  the  country.  And  you  must  be  sure 
to  come  next  Sunday,  day  after  tomorrow. 
Rhoda,  can't  you  come  then,  too?" 


SANG  OLD  SONGS.  189 

Rhoda  coughed  and  said,  "No,  I'm  afraid 
not,  dear." 

"Why,  are  you  expecting  some  one?" 
And  now  the  stare  which  she  bent  upon 
Zaleme  was  full  of  sorrowful  surprise  and  re 
buke.  "How  can  you  speak  so  lightly?  You 
know  that  some  one  has  come  and  gone  afar 
off,  I  won't  say  into  the  boundless  space  of 
eternity,  but  perhaps  into  the  careless  wander 
ings  of " 

"Rhoda,  you  know  I  didn't  mean " 

"Of  course  not,  dear,  and  now  there  is  noth 
ing  to  forgive,  even  if  I  should  search  ever  so 
long  to  find  it.  Mr.  Howardson,  while  here 
you  must  go  to  a  meeting  of  our  Swinburne 
Club.  The  next  meeting  will  be  held  at  Cap 
tain  Gray  son's,  ten  miles  down  the  creek  from 
here." 

I  knew  that  Rhoda  was  a  good  girl,  that 
she  was  twin  sister  to  sympathy,  but  on  this 
occasion  I  could  have  wished  that  she  had  gone 
with  whomever  he  was,  "into  the  careless  wan 
derings  of"  it  made  no  difference  whither. 
Mrs.  Acklin  was  a  sort  of  illumined  shadow, 


190  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

and  it  was  easy  to  get  away  from  her  and  I 
could  manage  to  break  loose  from  the  old  gen 
tleman;  but  this  pale  weeper  at  the  death  bed 
of  sentiment — there  was  no  way  to  dispose  of 
her.  After  dinner  Rhoda,  Zaleme  and  I  went 
into  the  hillside  orchard  that  sloped  grace 
fully  down  to  the  creek.  In  the  cool  shade 
we  sat  upon  the  bluegrass  turf.  Whenever 
a  silence  fell  Rhoda  gave  us  a  few  staves  of 
a  song  which  long  since  had  passed  its  tear 
ful  prime.  Nearly  all  of  her  heroes  and  hero 
ines  were  dead,  and  those  living  were  in  a 
sad  plight,  heartbroken  over  unfaithfulness. 
She  left  us  and  wandered  along  the  stone  wall 
to  gather  flowers.  It  was  a  relief. 

"I  won't  forget  my  promise  to  let  you  read 
Old  Sam's  letter." 

"Well,  but  you  put  it  off  so." 

"And  when  you  read  it  you  will  know  why." 

"Oh,  now  you  make  me  more  anxious  than 
ever.  Is  it  so — terrible?" 

"I  think  it  has  its  terrors." 

"Oh,  now,  don't  be  provoking.  I  believe 
you  are — are  guying  me.  I  know  he 


SANG  OLD  SONGS.  191 

wouldn't  say  anything  harsh  to  you ;  he  thinks 
too  much  of  you.  Oh,  perhaps  he  has  said 
something  about  me.  Did  he?" 

"No,  your  name  is  not " 

"Oh,  to  be  inferred  then.  Don't  tease  me. 
Let  me  read  it." 

"Not  now.  Do  you  know  why  I  came  to 
this  town?" 

"Why,  yes,  to  attend  to  business." 

"No,  to  see  you." 

"I  still  am  weeping,  my  lone  watch  keeping," 
sang  Rhoda  above  our  heads.  She  scattered 
flowers  upon  us,  and  then  with  a  sigh  sat  down. 
She  asked  me  if  I  could  tell  fortunes  by  look 
ing  at  the  hand,  and  I  told  her  that  I  had  found 
more  misfortune  than  fortune  by  looking  at 
hands — such  as  had  been  dealt  to  me,  and  she 
cried  out :  "Oh,  shame  on  you,  you've  played 
cards.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Zaleme?" 

"I  haven't  any  right  to  think  evil  of  it, 
Rhoda." 

"Oh,  now,  dear,  you  know  I  didn't  mean 
anything,  I " 


IQ2  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

Zaleme  laughed.  "Why,  of  course  you 
didn't." 

"No,  dear,  honestly  I  didn't." 

She  was  too  tender  for  me.  I  was  afraid 
of  wounding  her.  I  knew  of  such  a  girl  years 
ago,  and  now  she  is  fat  and  the  wife  of  a  horse 
doctor,  but  this  knowledge  did  not  relieve  the 
necessity  of  care  now.  But  why  didn't  Rhoda 
go  away  and  gather  more  flowers,  a  cartload 
of  them? 

We  returned  to  the  house  where  Mr.  Acklin 
sat  upon  the  veranda,  with  a  chair  in  front 
of  him,  piled  with  books,  some  one's  theories 
on  health.  He  caught  up  a  dark,  threatening 
volume  and  declared  that  I  must  take  it  to 
town  with  me  and  read  it.  But  perhaps  I 
had  read  it?  I  looked  at  the  title.  No,  I 
had  not  read  it,  but  had  read  a  long  review 
which  had  given  me  a  clear  idea  of  it.  That 
wouldn't  do.  I  must  read  the  book  itself.  Oh, 
nothing  could  give  me  more  pleasure. 

On  the  old  fashioned  sofa  in  the  parlor 
Zaleme  sat  close  beside  me;  and  I  breathed 
that  perfume  again.  And  surely  nowhere  on 


*SANG  OLD  SONGS.  193 

earth  was  there  such  a  breath  of  sweetness. 
Was  the  spirit  of  love  like  the  essence  of  a 
flower,  and  could  it  be  swelled  like  an  incense  ? 
Rhoda  was  with  us,  and  what  annoyed  me 
was  the  fact  that  she  did  not  seem  to  annoy 
Zaleme.  Nothing  could  stand  out  more  clearly 
than  the  fact  that  she  was  going  to  give  me 
serious  trouble,  not  only  by  her  presence,  but 
by  her  influence  as  well.  But  she  was  not 
malicious;  she  had  suffered  an  attack  of  sen 
timent  and  it  had  not  broken  out  properly. 
And  now  in  the  fever  of  such  a  disease  myself, 
I  could  not  give  her  over  to  complete  condem 
nation.  I  asked  her  to  sing,  and  going  to  the 
piano  she  touched  a  chord  that  ran  like  a  faded 
ribbon  back  into  the  past  and  a  face  as  wan 
as  her  own  arose  before  us,  the  face  of  Lorena, 
heroine  of  the  song  over  which  our  maiden 
aunts  in  days  gone  by  shed  tears  of  sweetest 
sorrow.  And  how  fitted  she  was  to  sing  it, 
frail  and  sentimental;  and  through  recollec 
tion's  half-closed  eyes  I  could  see  white  crape 
tied  upon  the  door  knobs  of  long  ago.  But 
in  my  heart  there  was  no  irreverence;  my  eye 

13 


194  IN  THE  ALAMO.  * 

might  have  been  humorous,  but  in  the  sym 
pathy  of  a  kindred  ailment  I  must  have  given 
her  tear  for  tear.  With  Zaleme  so  near,  any 
voice  might  have  passed  for  truest  melody. 
In  the  soft  light,  with  my  eye  not  now  so 
fantastically  dazzled  by  the  fitful  blaze  of  her 
beauty,  there  was  at  first  what  must  have  been 
an  unconscious,  followed  by  what  I  know  to  be 
a  conscious,  effort  of  search  to  find  some  blem 
ish  about  her.,  some  flaw  to  assist — hope.  And 
though  some  men  might  not  have  thought  her 
handsome,  to  me  she  was  without  a  flaw.  At 
night  the  fire-hunted  deer  stands  entranced, 
his  eye  ablaze,  blind  to  all  except  a  fascinating 
light;  and  often  it  is  so  with  man,  in  the  glare 
of  passion's  fire.  But  I  was  determined  to  see 
her  better,  and  by  sheer  force  I  began  to  suc 
ceed.  Her  dress  was  cut  low  and  on  the  Y 
shape  of  her  gleaming  flesh  was  a  heart  of  gold. 
When  Rhoda's  song  was  done  I  urged  her 
to  sing  again  and  had  I  been  bluntly  true  to 
myself  I  would  have  added,  "Yes,  and  louder 
next  time."  Ah,  and  when  before  had  I  heard 


SANG  OLD  SONGS.  195 

the  "watch  dog  is  snarling  for  fear  of  Annie 
darling"? 

"You  remember  what  I  said  to  you  out  in 
the  orchard  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  that  you  would  let  me  read  Mr. 
Hall's  letter/' 

"I  told  you  why  I  had  come  to  Kentucky." 

Her  eyes  were  full  upon  me.  "You  should 
not  have " 

"But  didn't  you  say  that  you  thanked  the 
business  that  brought  me  here?" 

"Yes,  for  I  thought " 

"That  I  really  had  come  on  business  and 
not  especially  to  see  you." 

"Yes.  But — but — of  course  I  am  glad  to 
see  you.  I  had  thought  many  and  many  a 
time  of  your  kindness  to  me." 

"But  why  should  I  not  have  come  to  see 
you?" 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  can't  tell  you." 

"Does  the  cause  lie  in — in  the  jewel  case?" 

"You  must  not  ask  me  that." 

She  looked  at  me  and  her  face  was  sad. 


196  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Won't  you  continue  to  be  my  friend — the 
very  best  friend  that  I  ever  had  ?  Won't  you  ?" 
Rhoda  hushed  her  singing  and  sat  down  be 
side  Zaleme.  Was  Old  Sam's  letter  strength 
ening  me?  I  was  determined  not  to  accept 
her  "no."  How  sweet  were  those  old  songs, 
and  I  urged  Rhoda  to  sing,  but  she  shook  her 
head.  Had  she  caught  my  words  and  made 
a  note  of  my  distress?  But  more  important, 
was  she  to  be  my  enemy  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CONFEDERATES  IN  A  CONSPIRACY. 

Rhoda  offered  no  further  opportunity.  I 
begged  for  another  old  song,  but  she  said  that 
the  old  songs  made  her  sad.  A  new  one,  then ; 
but  she  shook  her  head.  New  songs  did  not 
appeal  to  her  nature.  So,  after  this,  what  I 
said  to  Zaleme  might  just  as  well  have  been 
shouted  on  the  veranda,  so  general  was  the 
tone  and  the  text  of  it  all ;  and  when  I  arose 
to  take  my  leave,  I  fancied  that  the  faded 
sentimentalist  was  pleased.  But  in  one  mo 
ment  more  I  forgot  that  the  poor  thing  had  ever 
lived,  for  in  Zaleme's  eye  there  was  a  look, 
the  coming  and  the  going  of  a  star,  it  seemed, 
just  for  the  hundredth  part  of  a  moment, — that 
was  all,  but  it  was  enough,  and  my  heart  was 
fluttering  with  its  new  wings,  trying  to  fly, 
197 


198  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

when  I  slipped  out  upon  the  veranda.  Mr. 
Acklin  bounded  from  his  seat,  caught  up  one 
of  his  dark  books  and  declared  that  I  must 
take  it  to  town  with  me  as  a  protection  against 
the  loneliness  which  inevitably  we  find  in  a 
strange  place. 

"Oh,  but  it's  so  far  to  carry  it,  dad,"  cried 
Zaleme,  heaven-sent  reliever  of  man's  burden. 

"For  a  meat-eater  it  would  be  far,  my  dear," 
said  Mr.  Acklin,  delivering  the  book  to  me, 
"but  for  one  of  the  dietary  elect,  I  might  say 
it  is  as  nothing.  Now,  Mr.  Howardson,  don't 
forget  that  you  have  an  engagement  with  us 
Sunday;  and  by  the  way  I  have  a  brother  in 
town  and  I  want  you  to  meet  him.  He  keeps 
a  livery  stable  and  is  the  largest  man  physic 
ally  in  the  State  of  Kentucky.  And,  think  of 
it,  the  only  brother  I  have  is  addicted  to  roast 
pig.  You  needn't  bring  that  book  back  with 
you  Sunday — it  takes  some  time  to  get  at  all 
of  its  merits.  And  again  let  me  tell  you  that 
it  is  with  pleasure  that  I  welcome  you  to  my 
home." 

That  heavy  book  became  heavier  at  each  sue- 


A  CONSPIRACY.  199 

cessive  rise  in  the  road  and  it  might  have  been 
a  treatise  on  appetite  instead  of  health,  so 
greatly  did  it  promote  the  necessity  to  eat ;  and 
having  been  denied  hog  and  chicken,  both  flesh 
and  fowl  now  appealed  to  me.  But  at  supper 
in  the  hotel  dining  room  I  sat  in  a  cold  per 
spiration,  in  fear  lest  Mr.  Acklin  should  leap 
through  the  door  and  denounce  me  for  eating 
the  forbidden  fruit  of  a  fatted  calf.  I  was  sus 
picious  of  the  head  waiter  who  stood  looking 
at  me.  Was  he  storing  up  an  accusation? 
To  an  uneasy  mind  any  suspicion  is  reasonable. 
I  beckoned  to  him  and  when  he  came  and  stood 
beside  me  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  Mr.  Acklin. 
His  reply  was  that  he  often  had  the  pleasure 
of  waiting  on  him. 

"Ah,  and  he  has  taken  it  into  his  head  that 
I  am  not  a  meat  eater  and  I  don't  want  him 
to  know  that  I  am.  Do  you  understand?" 

He  looked  surprised,  as  if  he  could  not  un 
derstand,  but  I  gave  him  a  coin  and  the  situa 
tion  became  clear. 

And  now  I  began  to  ponder  upon  the  time 
that  must  pass  before  Sunday — one  whole  day. 


200  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

Why  had  she  made  it  so  long?  And  with  the 
thought  my  heart  grew  heavy,  but  suddenly 
came  back  to  me  the  memory  of  the  star  in 
her  eye;  and  I  walked  forth  into  the  park  to 
muse,  and  a  thousand  times  did  I  see  that  star 
quickly  come  and  go. 

The  next  morning  a  boy  from  the  afternoon 
newspaper  called  and  gave  to  me  for  approval 
a  proof1  slip  upon  which  was  the  following : 

"The  Hon.  Lucian  Howardson,  next  U.  S. 
Senator  from  Texas,  is  in  the  city,  having 
come  in  his  capacity  of  lawyer  to  settle  up  a 
large  Tennessee  estate  which  has  a  ramifica 
tion  over  into  this  part  of  the  country.  He 
is  an  organizer  and  a  leader  of  men  and  with 
out  a  doubt  the  announcement  of  his  candi 
dacy  is  equivalent  to  his  election  by  the  legis 
lature.  Mr.  Howardson  is  a  pronounced  vege 
tarian,  believing  that  the  time  will  come  when 
a  man  who  eats  meat  will  be  regarded  as  a 
cannibal." 

The  boy  said  that  the  paper  was  waiting  to 
go  to  press ;  and  begging  him  to  get  -back  to 
the  office  as  fast  as  he  could,  I  followed  him 


A  CONSPIRACY. 

across  the  park,  up  a  flight  of  narrow  stairs 
into  a  close,  ill-smelling  room  where  sat  a  man 
smoking  a  cob  pipe.  I  introduced  myself  and 
before  I  could  tell  him  that  the  publication  of 
the  paragraph  would  forever  damn  me,  he 
asked  me  how  many  copies  of  the  paper  I 
wanted.  He  was  astonished  when  I  explained 
the  cause  of  my  visit. 

"Why,  I  got  my  information  from  Mr.  Ack- 
lin,"  said  he,  tossing  his  pipe  upon  the  table 
and  taking  up  a  palm  leaf  fan.  "He  is  one 
of  my  oldest  subscribers  and  I  have  learned  to 
have  faith  in  him,  but  if  he  is  wrong " 

"Oh,  it's  not  that,"  I  broke  in;  "not  that, 
I  assure  you,  but  the  fact  is " 

"I  understand,"  he  interrupted.  "You  are 
willing  to  announce  your  principles  in  Ken 
tucky,  but  are  not  quite  ready  to  have  them 
known  in  Texas.  I  am  sorry,  for  Mr.  Acklin 
and  I  were  gratified  to  think  that  we  were  at 
last  to  have  so  able  an  exponent  of  our  views 
in " 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "you  don't  quite  com 
prehend  my  situation.  If  I  am  to  do  good, 


202  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  must  first  attain  the  place  where  good  can 
be  accomplished.  And  do  you  suppose  a  cat 
tle  growing  country  would  elect  a  man  who 
denounces  meat?" 

"Why,  of  course  not,"  he  laughed,  fanning 
himself  faster  and  faster.  "Suppose  you  write 
a  notice  yourself." 

"The  fact  is,  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  say 
anything." 

"All  right,  we'll  do  as  you  desire.  Just  make 
yourself  at  home  here  till  I  gather  up  a  few 
ends  and  tie  them  together  and  then  we'll  go 
out  to  where  they  stir  things  round  with  a 
spoon,  and  take  something." 

He  hovered  over  a  pad  of  paper  and  for  half 
an  hour  or  more  speeded  his  pencil  as  a  Ken 
tucky  farmer,  a  lover  of  horses,  would  speed 
a  colt;  he  tore  off  page  after  page  till  six  or 
eight  loosely  written  pages  lay  before  him, 
and  then  grabbing  them  up,  he  rushed  into 
another  room.  He  came  back  and  began  to 
look  for  something  upon  the  table,  raking  up 
papers,  overturning  a  pot  of  paste ;  he  hastened 
into  the  other  room,  was  gone  a  few  moments, 


A  CONSPIRACY.  203 

returning  with  a  puzzled  look  upon  his  face. 
"I  had  an  editorial  roast  on  the  city  council," 
said  he,  "but  I  can't  find  it.  However,  it'll 
keep  warm/'  and  then  with  a  most  pleasing 
change  of  countenance  he  added,  "Now,  sir, 
we'll  go." 

He  conducted  me  down  a  narrow  alley  into 
a  small,  carpeted  room  known  as  the  Side- 
Board.  A  polite  old  negro  came  forward  to 
greet  us,  too  humble  to  shake  hands,  but  in 
dulging  in  many  expressions  of  welcome. 
His  place  was  quaintly  furnished,  tables  with 
twisted  legs,  a  great  side-board  with  many  a 
merry  face  carved  upon  it,  and  particularly  a 
silver  pitcher  of  ancient  make,  heirloom  from 
the  old  world,  and  now  full  of  a  mint- 
steeped  liquor.  A  horse-hair  sofa  offered  a 
luxurious  seat;  the  old  man  placed  a  neatly 
spread  table  in  front  of  us,  and  thus  we  sat, 
talking  of  politics  and  then  of  Mr.  Acklin. 
He  was  known  throughout  the  community, 
my  new  associate  declared,  as  one  of  the  most 
steadfast  of  men,  with  a  steel  grip  upon  prin 
ciple.  And  his  daughter  was  much  like  him. 


204  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

So  profound  was  her  love  of  truth  that  she 
was  never  known  to  break  her  word,  even  if 
lightly  given,  upon  a  matter  of  no  importance. 
She  was  engaged  to  marry — here  he  hesitated 
and  all  aflame  I  urged  him  to  proceed,  but 
he  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

"There  is  something  singular  about  her  en 
gagement,"  said  I.  "The  other  day  I  met  a 
young  lady — are  you  acquainted  with  Miss 
Rhoda  White?" 

"I  hope  you'll  pardon  me  for  not  introduc 
ing  myself.  My  name  is  White  and  Rhoda 
is  my  sister." 

And  I  sat  there,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 
Why  was  Zaleme  so  constant  a  concern  to 
Rhoda,  and  why  did  this  man  sigh  over  the 
fact  that  once  she  was  engaged  to  marry? 
And  the  picture  and  the  lock  of  hair,  dropped 
by  the  Mexican  who  had  striven  to  murder 
me,  the  Alamo,  all  arose  frost-covered  in  my 
sight.  My  musing  was  broken  in  upon  by  the 
old  negro,  who  came  forward  with  a  dish  of 
broiled  birds,  which  he  placed  upon  the  table. 

"He  sets  the  finest  lunch  of  anybody  in  the 


A  CONSPIRACY.  205 

country,"  said  Mr.  White.  "Lately  he  has 
been  feeding  us  on  young  pigeons — squabs — 
and  here  we  have  a  whole  dish." 

I  looked  at  him  and  he  looked  at  me  and 
we  both  of  us  looked  at  the  dish  of  squabs. 
"Mr.  White,"  said  I,  determined  to  clear  my 
self  at  least  in  part,  "I  wish  to  make  a  sort  of 
confession.  While  out  at  Mr.  Acklin's  yes 
terday  I  agreed  with  something  he  said  and 
instantly  he  took  up  the  notion  that  I  was  a 

vegetarian,  and " 

•  Back  upon  the  sofa  White  spread  himself 
with  an  echoing  roar;  and  in  his  face  I  read 
a  counterpart  of  the  mistake  made  with  regard 
to  me ;  and  we  both  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled. 
"Years  ago,"  he  said  as  soon  as  he  was  able, 
"I  did  the  same  thing  and  in  his  mind  I  became 
a  vegetarian,  and,  sir,  I  may  have  nerve  enough 
to  fight  a  man,  but  I  haven't  the  strength  of 
heart  to  tell  him  he  was  wrong.  And  I've 
got  all  my  people  and  all  his  trained  not  to 
betray  me,  but  I  am  always  afraid  he  may  find 
me  out.  I  went  to  a  barbecue  not  long  ago, 
where  they  cooked  sheep,  hogs  and  even  oxen 


206  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

whole,  and  following  my  usual  custom,  I 
looked  about  to  see  if  I  could  find  Mr.  Acklin. 
I  never  had  found  him  at  such  a  place,  still, 
I  was  afraid.  Well,  on  this  occasion,  after 
deciding  that  he  wasn't  there,  I  gathered  up  a 
hunk  of  mutton  and  was  devouring  it  when 
I  saw  him  step  out  from  behind  a  tent  and  turn 
directly  toward  me.  He  was  so  close  that  I 
couldn't  throw  the  meat  away,  and  it  would 
have  choked  me  to  death  if  I'd  attempted  to 
swallow  it,  so  I  shoved  it  into  the  inside  pocket 
of  a  light  coat,  snatched  off  my  hat,  wiped  my 
hands  on  my  hair  and  stood  facing  him.  He 
came  up,  held  out  his  hand,  and  instantly  I  was 
taken  with  a  pain  in  the  stomach  and  pretended 
not  to  notice  his  greeting.  Well,  sir,  he  did 
not  leave  me  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  all  this 
time  that  mutton  was  oozing  grease,  and  it  be 
gan  to  show  through,  of  course,  when  some 
ladies  came  up.  But  just  at  that  moment  I 
had  cause  to  thank  the  Lord ;  a  shower  of  rain 
began  to  fall.  Help  yourself  to  these  birds." 

And  while  we  were  eating  I  detected  him  as 
from  time  to  time  he  shot  a  glance  at  the  door, 


A  CONSPIRACY.  207 

afraid  of  discovery;  and  I  took  his  fear  unto 
myself  and  multiplied  it,  having  more  to  lose. 
White  and  I  parted  the  best  of  friends,  sworn 
confederates  in  a  dangerous  conspiracy;  and 
I  then  went  round  to  the  livery  stable  kept  by 
the  vegetarian's  brother  Stephen.  If  to  eat 
flesh  makes  one  gr6ss  it  could  well  have  been 
sworn  that  this  man  in  his  time  had  swallowed 
vast  herds  of  cattle.  He  was  so  enormous  that 
his  great  height  could  not  easily  be  estimated. 
He  was  sitting  on  a  long  bench,  which  he  filled, 
and  he  was  laughing  at  the  joke  of  a  skinny  fel 
low  who  stood  near,  and  he  shook  everything 
and  the  air  vibrated  with  him.  I  waited  until 
he  was  still  and  then  introduced  myself;  I  told 
him  not  to  get  up,  but  he  arose,  swallowed  my 
hand  with  one  of  his  and  let  the  other  one  drop 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  its  weight  felt  like  the 
hind  quarter  of  a  well-fed  beef.  He  laughed, 
pleased  that  I  had  recognized  his  immediate  in 
fluence,  invited  me  to  a  seat  on  his  bench,  sat 
down  and  then  roared  when  I  looked  for  a 
place  to  sit,  all  the  room  having  been  taken. 
He  bellowed  something  and  a  negro  boy  came 


208  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

running  with  a  chair;  then  I  sat  down  and  stole 
a  study  of  him  when  he  was  not  looking.  But 
unlike  nearly  all  over-large  men  he  was  not 
sensitive  to  the  surprise  and  curiosity  of  stran 
gers.  Doubtless  an  enforced  philosophy  had 
driven  him  or  dragged  him  beyond  that  point. 
He  said  that  he  was  pleased  to  see  me;  his 
niece  and  his  herb-eating  brother  had  spoken  of 
me.  "And  by  the  way,"  said  he,  winking  at 
the  skinny  man,  "he  told  me  that  you  are  along 
with  him  in  that  line" ;  and  then  he  bellowed : 
"Bill,  put  some  oats  and  corn  in  trough  of  No. 
10 — plenty  of  hay  in  the  rack — gentleman  be 
here  for  dinner."  Then  he  roared  and  shook. 
He  got  up  after  a  time  and  begged  my  pardon 
for  his  rudeness,  but  he  was  seized  again  and 
walked  back  whooping  to  the  far  end  of  the 
stable,  his  great  bulk  shutting  out  the  light  that 
came  from  the  rear.  I  liked  him.  He  was  a 
great  engine,  a  motive  power  of  good  humor. 
Men  with  keener  minds  might  find  distress ;  he 
was  looking  for  a  chance  to  laugh. 

I  took  him  into  my  confidence,  telling  him  of 
his  brother's  mistake  regarding  me,   and  he 


A  CONSPIRACY.  209 

rewarded  me  with  the  loudest  laugh  I  ever 
heard.  It  seemed  a  burst  of  impulsive  gladness 
from  the  heart  of  all  animal  nature,  and  I  felt 
that  he  was  to  be  my  friend.  It  is  not  always 
true  that  big  men  are  generous  or  broad  in 
their  views.  The  greatest  scoundrel  I  ever 
knew  was  of  prodigious  size;  the  thickness  of 
the  woe-woven  garment  that  enrobes  the  soul 
of  man  does  not  argue  the  greatness  of  the  soul. 
But  the  broad,  kindly  smile  of  this  man,  the 
soft  light  of  his  ox-like  eye,  and  more  than  all, 
the  fountain,  yes,  the  torrent  of  mirth  within 
him,  atoned  for  a  thousand  big  rascals  of  the 
flesh.  He  had  never  heard  of  my  speeches  in 
Congress;  he  did  not  read  anything  and  he 
thought  of  naught  except  that  which  his 
physical  view  revealed,  but  conditions  had  made 
him  wiser  than  a  political  economist. 

"Now,  while  you  are  in  town,"  said  he, 
"there  ain't  no  use  of  walking,  especially  when 
you  want  to  go  out  to  my  brother's  house.  You 
just  come  here  and  get  any  rig  you  want  and  it 
sha'n't  cost  you  a  cent." 

I  saw  that  he  meant  what  he  said  and  I 


210  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

thanked  him.  He  told  me  that  for  a  long  time 
certain  upstarts  in  the  town  thought  to  show 
wisdom  by  calling  him  Falstaff.  He  did  not 
know  but  that  Sir  John  met  all  the  require 
ments  that  an  American  citizen  should  meet, 
but  his  brother  enlightened  him;  so  he  grabbed 
one  of  the  upstarts  as  he  was  passing  the  stable, 
held  him  and  roared  so  mightily  in  his  ear  that 
he  was  likely  to  lose  his  hearing,  and  since  then 
they  had  shown  him  more  respect.  But  while 
listening  to  him,  and  interested  in  what  he  said, 
why  did  I  feel  that  the  skinny  fellow  was  an  in 
truder  ?  I  wanted  this  big  man  to  tell  me  about 
Zaleme's  engagement.  But  there  the  fellow 
stood,  to  me  an  assassin,  letting  the  life  blood 
out  of  opportunity.  We  were  near  the  door, 
and  looking  down  the  street  I  saw  Mr.  Acklin 
coming,  his  gold  fob  shining  in  the  sun.  He 
shook  hands  cordially  and  appeared  to  be 
pleased  upon  seeing  me  with  his  brother.  "I 
told  you  he  was  the  biggest  man  in  the  coun 
try,"  said  he,  "and  now  you  know  it.  How  are 
all,  Stephen?" 
"All  well,  John." 


A  CONSPIRACY.  211 

"Molly  got  over  her  cold?" 

"Yes,  she's  about  as  usual/' 

"I  heard  that  someone  stole  your  iron-gray 
mare,  Stephen?" 

"Yes,  fellow  named  Patton.  Caught  him 
yesterday." 

"What  have  they  done  with  him?" 

"They  put  him  in  jail  to  wait  for  his  trial, 
but  I  went  on  his  bond  and  got  him  out.  Poor 
devil,  never  had  a  dollar  in  the  world — luck 
has  always  been  against  him;  his  horse  died 
and  he  didn't  have  hair  nor  hide  to  make  a 
crop  with — wife  and  six  children — and  as  his 
corn  needed  plowing  he  caught  up  the  first 
horse  he  found.  I  told  him  to  go  on  home  and 
not  bother  about  the  court." 

"But  how  is  he  going  to  make  his  crop  ?" 

"Well,  I  lent  him  the  iron-gray  mare,  John." 
And  as  if  he  had  sprung  upon  his  brother  the 
best  of  all  jokes,  he  roared  and  shook  himself. 

"You  were  right,  Stephen,"  said  Zaleme's 
father. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

STEPHEN  WANTED  MUSIC. 

The  brothers  began  to  talk  about  matters 
which  concerned  only  themselves,  and  I  returned 
to  the  hotel  with  a  strong  feeling  against  the 
skinny  fellow  who  had  dealt  a  death  blow  to 
my  opportunity.  But  after  supper  I  went  back 
to  the  stable  in  the  hope  that  Brother  Stephen 
might  keep  open  at  night,  but  the  place  was 
closed.  A  screech  owl  hooted  in  a  wagon  shed. 
A  negro,  whistling  with  the  melody  of  a  flute, 
came  walking  past  me.  I  broke  into  his  music 
to  ask  him  if  Mr.  Acklin  were  likely  to  return 
that  night  to  the  stable.  He  answered  that  he 
thought  not,  but  that  I  might  find  him  at  the 
Side-Board.  Long  before  reaching  the  place 
I  knew  that  I  was  not  to  be  disappointed.  A 

musical  bellow,  like  a  bass  horn  burst  of  Wag- 
212 


STEPHEN  WANTED  MUSIC.    213 

ner,  told  me  that  he  was  there.  He  sat  in  a 
great  chair  made  especially  for  him,  singing 
with  Editor  White,  whose  voice  was  completely 
hushed  in  the  rafter-shaking  uproar ;  and  on  a 
table  in  front  of  him  was  a  "private"  mug  of 
ale.  He  got  up  and  bawled  me  a  welcome,  and 
I  thought  that  he  was  drunk,  but  he  wasn't. 
White  whispered  that  there  was  not  in  all  the 
town  enough  liquor  to  intoxicate  him.  But  he 
was  not  disposed  to  drink  to  excess — had  never 
been  known  to  show  the  effect  of  potation,  and 
never  indulged  in  more  than  a  gallon  of  ale  at 
a  draught.  A  peaceable  disposition  served  to 
illumine  his  other  virtues.  Once  while  sitting 
in  his  accustomed  place  a  sudden  "difficulty" 
arose  and  shots  began  to  fly,  but  instead  of 
taking  a  hand  or  in  any  way  giving  countenance 
to  one  faction  or  the  other,  he  bawled  out: 
"And  in  the  meantime,  bring  me  something  to 
drink."  Being  a  man  of  means  he  contributed 
largely  to  the  temperance  cause.  To  slim  men 
he  said,  "Don't  drink.  It  will  make  you  too 
heavy" ;  and  to  heavy  men  he  had  been  known 
to  give  this  advice :  "Let  it  alone,  it  will  make 


214  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

your  pockets  too  light."  On  one  occasion  at  a 
temperance  speaking  it  was  discovered  that  the 
orator  was  suddenly  stricken  with  the  influence 
of  the  apple  and  the  corn.  He  toppled  and  fell, 
and  then  Stephen  arose.  "Ladies  and  gentle 
men/'  said  he,  "somewhere,  I  don't  know 
where,  we  are  told  to  forgive  a  fallen  brother, 
and  if  this  fellow  ain't  down  I  don't  know  who 
is.  Therefore  we'll  sponge  him  and  let  him  go 
ahead  with  his  talk."  Of  course  there  was  but 
little  truth  in  all  this  drollery,  but  it  showed  the 
character  with  which  a  humorous  people  were 
pleased  to  invest  the  big  liveryman. 

Stephen  had  a  chair  brought  for  me  and 
placed  near  his  own,  and  then  with  that  un 
offending  patronage  which  seems  always  to 
come  of  great  flesh,  he  clapped  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  remarked  that  from  what  he  had 
seen  he  did  not  think  that  I  was  a  very  bad  lot. 

"Why,  he  is  going  to  be  the  next  Senator 
from  the  great  State  of  Texas,"  said  White. 

"That's  all  right,"  Stephen  replied.  "Yes, 
sir,  it's  all  right,  and  we  hope  it  won't  do  him 
any  harm.  Oh,  Sam !"  he  roared,  and  the  old 


STEPHEN  WANTED  MUSIC. 

negro  off  somewhere  in  the  darkness  answered, 
"Comin',  sah."  And  when  he  had  come  Stephen 
thus  made  known  what  he  wanted:  "How 
long  do  you  reckon  it  would  take  you  to  cook 
one  of  them  peacocks  I  saw  out  there?" 

"W'y,  I  doan  know,  sah.  Da's  sorter  hard 
w'en  da's  sot  in  dar  ways,  an'  I  reckon  dese  out 
yere  is  sot." 

"Great  Caesar!"  White  cried  out,  "you  are 
not  thinking  of  eating  again,  are  you?  It 
hasn't  been  three  hours  since  you  had  supper." 

Stephen  clapped  a  hand  on  White's  leg.  "But, 
Tommy,  it  has  been  at  least  three  years  since 
I  ate  a  peacock,  and  I'm  hungry  for  one.  But 
if  there's  any  objections  we'll  compromise  on 
— Sam,  bring  in  half  a  dozen  cans  of  cove 
oysters  with  a  peck  or  two  of  crackers  and  pep 
per  sauce."  White  frowned,  and  in  the  yield 
ing  tenderness  of  his  nature  Stephen  added: 
"Never  mind,  Sam,  there  seems  to  be  objection 
to  the  motion.  Tommy,  I  came  within  one  of 
offending  a  man  today — fellow  named  Carter; 
reckon  you  remember  him.  Well,  he  came 
along  and  as  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  some  time 


216  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  asked  him  how  he  was  doing,  and  he  looked 
sad  and  replied  that  he  had  buried  his  father 
the  day  before.  And  before  I  knew  what  I  was 
about  I  'lowed  it  was  the  best  thing  he  could 
do.  'What!'  he  yelled;  and  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  draw  something,  but  I  put  my  hand 
on  him  and  told  him  to  wait  a  minute,  and  then 
I  said:  'Your  father  was  dead,  wasn't  he?' 
'Of  course  he  was,'  says  he.  'Well  then,'  says 
I,  'isn't  burying  a  dead  man  about  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  with  him?'  He  said  yes,  if  it 
was  looked  at  that  way,  and  I  told  him  that  was 
the  only  way  to  look  at  it." 

"He  ought  to  have  hired  half  a  dozen  men, 
taken  up  a  saw  log  and  knocked  you  down," 
said  White,  and  the  negro  Sam,  standing  be 
hind  him,  snorted  and  ducked  back  into  the 
darkness  of  an  adjoining  room. 

"Yes,  if  you  want  to  punish  a  man  for  tell 
ing  of  the  truth,"  Stephen  replied.  Then  he 
bawled  for  Sam,  and  the  negro  came  snickering 
back  into  the  light.  "Sam,  can  you  get  Pete 
and  Mose  with  their  fiddle  and  horn  and  Tab 
with  his  bull  fiddle?  We  want  music." 


STEPHEN  WANTED  MUSIC.    21? 

"Da  gone  ter  a  dance,  sah." 

"What  sort  of  a  dance?" 

"A  cullud  dance,  sah." 

"In  town  here?" 

"Yes,  sah;  'tween  yere  an'  de  riber." 

"Well,  you  go  and  tell  the  town  marshal 
I  say  to  go  over  there  and  break  up  that  dance. 
I  want  the  music." 

"Ef  dat  ain't  de  gineral  fix  o'  de  cullud  man 
I'se  de  bigges'  liar  in  de  worl',"  the  negro 
shouted,  shaking  with  laughter,  and  he  seized 
a  chair  to  keep  from  falling.  "You'se  got  s'ciety 
an'  politics  mixed  up  an'  all  told  right  dar."  I 
felt  the  house  shaking,  and  looking  at  Stephen 
I  saw  that  he  was  silently  laughing.  "Here,"  he 
said,  holding  out  a  piece  of  money ;  "there's  a 
dollar  for  your  smartness.  Wisdom  ought  to 
be  paid  as  well  as  labor." 

I  wondered  how  long  before  White  would 
take  his  leave.  I  had  seen  the  time  when  such 
jollity  would  have  danced  my  heart  upon  a 
gleeful  knee,  but  now  it  was  an  oppression  and 
I  was  forced  to  keep  the  secret  of  its  mockery. 
It  is  a  sad  condition  when  the  mind  fights  the 


2i8  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

heart,  and  with  introspective  ear  I  could  hear 
the  din  of  such  a  conflict.  After  years  of  study 
and  of  yearning  I  had  a  chance  to  seize  the 
object  of  my  ambition,  but  now  I  was  throwing 
it  away,  chasing  a  butterfly  through  an  orchard 
to  catch  a  black  beetle  down  in  the  marsh.  I 
knew  that  my  mind  was  right  and  that  my 
heart  was  wrong,  and  I  knew  that  in  its  sudden 
dashes  the  mind  fought  with  a  more  desperate 
fierceness ;  but  after  all  it  was  a  guerrilla  band 
when  compared  with  the  mustered  forces  of 
the  heart.  Why  could  there  not  be  a  medicine 
to  cure  the  disease  of  love?  Men  are  treated 
for  nostalgia,  which,  after  all,  is  a  sort  of  love 
sickness.  It  seems  that  science  ought  to  be 
able  to  distill  a  liquid  from  some  sort  of  flower 
redder  than  love — but  is  love  red  ?  Sometimes 
it  is  black,  like  a  flower  murdered  by  the  frost. 
"Wake  up,"  said  Stephen,  letting  his  hand 
fall  upon  my  shoulder.  "Tomorrow's  Sunday 
and  all  we've  got  to  do  is — no,  we  are  going 
out  to  John's.  And  I  want  you  to  see  the  din 
ner  they  serve  when  I'm  there.  No  stint,  I  bet 
you,  when  I'm  'round.  I  went  out  there  once 


STEPHEN  WANTED  MUSIC.    219 

and  the  negro  woman  had  baked  a  shote — just 
right;  and  it  was  shote  weather,  one  of  the 
first  cool  days  in  fall.  It  was  brought  on  the 
table,  brown  and  juicy;  and  when  I  began  to 
eat  I  could  see  John's  mouth  water,  as  he  sat 
there  with  his  gluten  and  pygnolia  nuts,  and 
after  standing  it  as  long  as  he  could  he  said, 
'Steve,  would  you  mind  going  out  to  the  stable 
and  finishing  up  that  thing?'  and  I  said,  'Why, 
that's  where  corn  and  other  vegetables  are 
eaten,  not  meat/  and  the  women  folks  laughed 
at  him.  You'll  be  there,  won't  you,  Tommy?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  think  so.  I  don't  eat  there 
very  often." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are  one  of  his  supposed  cranks. 
Why  don't  you  break  away  and  declare  your 
independence?" 

"Oh,  well,  because  it  would  hurt  him  so  to 
find  that. I  was  no  longer  a  slave.  I  am  like 
you;  I  don't  like  to  wound  people.  No,  not 
exactly  like  you.  I  wouldn't  tell  a  man  that 
the  best  thing  they  could  do  with  his  father  was 
to  bury  him." 

White  was  kind-hearted,  no  doubt,  but  like 


220  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

the  skinny  fellow,  he  was  killing  my  oppor 
tunity.  I  arose  to  go,  hoping  that  Stephen 
would  offer  to  walk  over  to  the  hotel  with  me, 
but  he  did  not;  he  reached  up  and  gave  me  a 
good-night  grip;  and  as  I  passed  out  of  the 
alley  into  the  street  I  felt  the  air  vibrating  and 
I  heard  him  bawling  his  midnight  song. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A   MARBLE  SHAFT  BETWEEN   US. 

Consciousness  came  with  a  thrill  the  next 
morning.  It  was  the  day  appointed  by  her; 
and  before  the  sun's  light  was  full  upon  the 
town  I  arose,  and  dressing  myself,  sat  by  the 
open  window,  musing  upon  the  joy-riot  of 
birds  in  the  park.  Hope  was  born  anew  of  the 
soft  air,  and  my  heart  arose  with  the  sun.  In 
the  coming  glory  of  the  day,  when  molten  gold 
is  poured  from  the  black  furnaces  of  the  night, 
even  the  most  doubtful  must  feel  the  spirit  of 
the  world's  Creator;  and  it  is  then  that  the 
heart  takes  fresh  confidence.  And  surely  mine 
was  not  to  be  thrown  down  and  trampled  into 
the  dust.  My  inner  being  was  full  of  this  new 
hope,  and  there  must  have  been  an  outward 
glow,  for  upon  sitting  down  to  breakfast  the 

221 


222  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

head  waiter,  grown  familiar,  remarked  that  I 
had  no  doubt  received  good  news.  And  how 
springy  I  felt  when  the  time  came  to  go,  and 
how  my  heart  leaped  along  the  road;  but  the 
moment  I  saw  the  house  I  faltered  and  stood 
trembling  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  Why  had  the 
half-sun  so  strengthened  me  and  why  now  was 
the  full  blaze  so  weakening?  And  I  believe 
that  my  coward  legs  would  have  taken  me  past 
the  house,  down  to  the  bridge,  to  lean  with 
heaviness  upon  the  parapet  and  to  sigh  down 
at  the  water,  had  I  not  seen  Zaleme  standing  at 
the  gate.  She  came  forward  to  meet  me,  with 
a  rose  in  her  mouth ;  she  gave  me  her  hand  and 
then  pinned  the  rose  upon  my  breast,  and  for  a 
moment  I  fancied  that  it  was  her  heart  with 
mine  beating  against  it.  And  if  she  had  told 
me  that  she  came  with  the  sunrise  and  had 
plucked  the  flower  on  her  way  through  Paradise 
I  would  have  believed  her.  As  we  passed  under 
the  vine  at  the  steps  of  the  veranda  a  blue  sheen 
fell  upon  her  hair,  and  upon  the  milk  of  her 
neck  a  rich  cream  arose.  With  an  electric  touch 
she  put  me  into  a  great  rocking-chair,  brought 


A  MARBLE  SHAFT.  223 

a  palm-leaf  fan  and  for  a  few  moments  play 
fully  fanned  me,  laughing  out  her  sweet  words, 
words  that  I  did  not  understand  except  that 
they  were  music.  Then  she  sat  down,  and  on 
a  sudden  I  felt  that  she  was  repentant  of  her 
freedom  and  was  changing  toward  me. 

"Is  your  father  well?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  always  well." 

"Your  mother's  well,  I  hope?" 

"Oh,  yes,  mother  is  well." 

We  looked  at  each  other  and  old  Granny 
Nature  was  too  strong;  we  laughed.  But  in  a 
moment  I  was  serious  enough,  for  the  old  gen 
tleman  came  walking  out,  with  a  black  book,  a 
very  beetle  of  literature;  and  he  grabbed  me 
with  enthusiasm  and  said :  "My  dear  Howard- 
son,  here  I  have  something  that  will  delight  us 
both,  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  opinions  on 
pygnolia  nuts.  You  shall  take  it  back  to  town 
with  you  when  you  go.  Yes,  sir,  delighted  to 
see  you  again.  And  how  are  your  affairs  pro 
gressing?" 

I  could  have  told  him,  but  I  didn't.    I  an- 


224  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

swered  that  the  estate  was  somewhat  involved, 
but  that  I  hoped  soon  to  untangle  it. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  ask :  You  don't  use  much 
soda,  do  you  ?" 

"In  the  settlement  of  estates — oh,  you  mean 
at  the  table — or  in  cooking,  I  might  say.  No, 
very  little." 

"Howardson,  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that. 
It  is  another  evidence  of  the  fact  of  your  won 
derful  common  sense.  Why,  come  out,  my 
dear.  Here  is  Mr.  Howardson." 

Mrs.  Acklin,  the  luminous  shadow  of  purity 
and  cheerfulness,  came  out  and  gave  me  some 
thing  white  which  I  understood  was  her  hand. 
I  gave  it  back  to  her  and  she  thanked  me;  and 
I  caught  Zaleme's  eyes,  and  they  were  shouting 
in  mirth — my  heart  could  hear  them.  I  asked 
Zaleme  if  Miss  White  were  coming  and  was  re 
lieved  of  a  great  distress  when  informed  that 
she  was  not.  Mrs.  Acklin  went  back  into  the 
house,  like  an  obliging  shadow,  but  Mr.  Acklin 
sat  there,  refusing  to  budge,  though  he  might 
have  known  that  I  wished  him  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea.  He  asked  me  about  some  other  in- 


A  MARBLE  SHAFT.  225 

sipid  food,  and  as  they  say  in  his  State,  I  felt 
like  "cursing  him  out."  Zaleme  began  to  speak 
and  I  forgot  that  there  was  an  oath  upon  earth, 
except  an  oath  breathed  amid  perfume  at  the 
altar.  "Father,"  she  said,  "Nettie  Goodwin 
has  come  back  from  Vassar." 

"Ah,  hah !  Full  of  isms  and  the  memory  of 
cutting  up  live  frogs,  I  suppose.  Shouldn't  be 
surprised  but  we'll  hear  from  her  pretty  soon 
on  some  new  scheme  of  political  economy." 

"I  don't  believe  so,"  she  replied.  "I  never 
did  think  much  of  her  until  yesterday,  when  she 
said  that  she  would  rather  be  a  mother  than  to 
have  all  the  education  in  the  world." 

"Then  she  is  fitted  to  be  one.  Howardson, 
did  you  ever  look  very  far  into  single  tax?" 

Lord  of  Hosts,  was  he  preparing  another  in 
fliction  ?  But  I  gave  him  attention  and  with  a 
corpse-like  smile  answered  that  I  had  not. 

"Then,  sir,  there  is  additional  wisdom  in 
store  for  you.  I  have  five  volumes  upstairs, 
and  you  shall  take  them  home  with  you." 

"Why,  father,"  Zaleme  cried,  "Mr.  Howard- 
son  isn't  a  pack  horse." 

15 


226  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"My  dear,  cry  out  at  meat-eaters  and  not  at 
men  who  have  passed  the  age  of  barbarism.  I 
warrant  you  he  wouldn't  feel  the  weight  of 
fifty  books." 

I  have  no  idea  as  to  what  I  would  have  said, 
for  just  at  that  moment  our  attention  was  taken 
up  with  the  arrival  of  Brother  Stephen.  He 
drove  two  strong  horses  hitched  to  a  big  buggy, 
and  he  made  the  vehicle's  joints  creak  as  he  got 
out;  and  he  came  forward  neat  and  enormous 
in  a  suit  of  white  linen.  He  shook  the  veranda, 
then  shook  hands  and  then  sat  down  upon  a 
broad,  bench-like  chair  which  his  brother 
dragged  out  for  him.  He  asked  for  water  and 
Zaleme  brought  it  in  a  tin  pail,  laughing;  and 
he  turned  it  up  and  drank  it  all  at  a  draught,  I 
believe,  though  he  may  have  taken  two ;  rolled 
his  eyes,  after  the  manner  of  Hawthorne's  ox, 
drinking  at  the  trough  of  the  town  pump;  put 
down  the  pail  and  smiled  broadly  in  honor  of 
the  achievement.  In  spite  of  his  great  flesh  he 
was  not  vulgar.  His  shirt  bosom  was  spotless 
and  his  monstrous  growth  of  wheat-straw  hair 
was  combed  or  knocked  down  rather  neatly. 


A  MARBLE  SHAFT.  227 

We  began  to  laugh  the  moment  he  arrived,  and 
Mrs.  Acklin  came  out  and  laughed  with  us; 
a  waddling  negress,  herself  somewhat  encum 
bered  with  flesh,  caught  sight  of  him  and  we 
could  hear  her  laughing  long  after  she  returned 
to  the  kitchen. 

"Well,  everybody  seems  to  be  in  good  humor 
this  morning,"  said  Stephen. 

"You  always  bring  good  humor  with  you," 
replied  Mrs.  Acklin. 

"Ah,  hah,"  cried  Stephen,  and  he  turned  to 
his  brother.  "How  do  you  account  for  that, 
John,  when  I  ate  a  steak  for  breakfast  a  third 
as  big  as  a  horse  blanket?  Hah?" 

"Oh,  well,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  a 
great  machine." 

"Is  there?  Now  I'll  agree  that  you've  got 
more  education  than  I  have,  but  I  can  lay  you 
out  on  horse-sense." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  need  so  very  much 
horse-sense,"  Brother  John  replied.  "I  don't 
run  a  livery  stable." 

I  wondered  why  the  idea  that  I  had  come  to 
see  his  daughter  had  never  seemed  to  enter  Mr. 


228  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

Acklin's  mind ;  but  it  had  not,  so  far  as  I  was 
able  to  determine  from  his  actions.  Surely  his 
wife  must  know,  and  why  therefore  had  she 
not  told  him?  And  why,  with  the  ingenuity 
which  even  the  most  ordinary  country  girl  pos 
sesses,  did  not  Zaleme  herself  contrive  some 
means — but  did  she  really  care  to  see  me  alone  ? 
There  was  the  point,  and  upon  it  I  stuck  and 
fretted.  The  brothers  were  forgetfully  jovial 
in  a  genial  tilt  and  I  addressed  myself  to 
Zaleme. 

"Miss  White  has  had — trouble,  hasn't  she?" 

"Yes,  she  has  had  her  share  of  sorrow." 

"The  loss  of  her  mother?" 

She  looked  at  me  and  I  thought  that  she  was 
going  to  laugh  as  we  had  laughed  a  short  time 
before,  but  she  did  not.  She  merely  looked 
and  then  her  eyes  wandered  off  over  the  green 
fields  that  lay  beyond  the  turnpike.  "I  wish 
she  were  here,"  said  I,  "to  sing  an  old  song  for 
me.  But  don't  you  sing  old  songs  ?" 

"You  talked  while  she  was  singing!"  Was 
it  roguery  in  her  eye,  or  was  it  reproach  ? 


A  MARBLE  SHAFT.  229 

"Did  I?     It  must  have  been  a  sort  of — in 
spiration/' 

She  shook  her  head.     "It  must  have  been 

calculation,"  she  replied. 

"Calcu — why,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 
"I  mean  that  you  intended  to  say  something 

and  said  it." 

"Yes,  that  is  true.    I  urged  you  to  tell  me  if 

you  knew  why  I  came.     Was  there  so  very 

much  calculation  in  that?    And  tell  me,  did  it 

displease  you?" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  that  it  displeased  me." 
"Thank  you.    But  did  it  please  you  to  know 

why  I  came?" 

"When  a  woman  is  flattered  she  denies  it." 
"And  were  you  merely  flattered  ?    Was  that 

all?" 

"Isn't  that  enough?    Isn't  it  sufficient  when 

a  woman  acknowledges  flattery?" 
"But  you  haven't  acknowledged  it." 
"Haven't  I?     Then  I  won't.     Look  at  that 

cloud,  that  fleece,  that  purple  fan  spread  out. 

It  reminds  me  of  Texas.    Don't  you  wish  you 

were  there  now?" 


23o  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Yes,  in  the  woods  with  you,  sitting  on  that 
beflowered  bank." 

"Where  you  declaimed  your  barbarous 
blank  verse.  But  I  thought  it  was  pretty." 

"The  blank  verse?" 

"The  bank  where  the  flowers  grew." 

"Oh,  yes,  so  did  I.  Are  there  any  such  banks 
in  the  woods  here  ?" 

"Not  so  gay — not  so  Spanish.  Our  woods 
are  prettiest  in  the  fall." 

"I  must  come  back  to  see  them.  Will  you 
walk  with  me  then?" 

"Yes,  I  am  very  fond  of  walking — in  the 
fall." 

She  caught  a  quick  glance  from  me  and 
turned  it  like  a  piece  of  polished  steel  Surely 
she  had  changed  since  she  pinned  the  rose  on 
my  coat.  And  was  it  because  she  fancied  that 
I  had  felt  a  presumptuous  encouragement  ?  Wras 
it  her  desire  forever  to  keep  me  meekly  near 
the  earth?  Over  in  a  pasture  a  blooded  colt 
was  racing  round  and  round.  "Mine,"  she 
said,  seeing  that  I  was  watching  it.  "A  pres 
ent  from  Uncle  Stephen." 


A  MARBLE  SHAFT.  231 

"And  does  it  eat  out  of  your  hand?" 

"Why,  of  course.  Would  you  be  afraid " 

And  with  mounting  blood  I  broke  in:  "I 
wouldn't  hesitate  to  eat  poison " 

"Of  course  it's  poison,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Acklin.  "The  finest  piece  of  beef  in  the  world 
is  poison." 

"But  it  may  be  another  man's  meat,"  said 
Zaleme;  and  Stephen  roared.  "Touched  you 
that  time,  John.  If  I  didn't  eat  everything  I 
wanted  to  what  do  you  suppose  would  become 
of  me?" 

"Why,"  answered  his  brother,  "you  would 
probably  shrink  down  to  the  size  of  about  two 
ordinary  men.  Seriously,  Stephen,  look  what 
I  have  accomplished  since  I  began  to  live  like 
a  civilized  being.  I  have  taken  the  complete 
Chautauqua  course " 

"And  have  found  troubles  that  you  didn't 
know  existed  before,"  Stephen  struck  in. 

"No,  pleasures.  We  must  know  in  order  to 
enjoy;  we  must  feel  in  order  to  judge  and  to 
appreciate." 

"And  we  must  keep  out  of  the  way  of  school 


232  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

teachers  if  we  wish  to  enjoy  ourselves," 
Stephen  declared.  "I  never  saw  one  that  didn't 
bring  just  a  little  trouble  with  him.  Wants  to 
talk  slow,  as  if  that  makes  what  he  says  heavy. 
When  they  come  around  me  I  say,  'Here, 
brother,  say  it — blow  it  out.  I'd  rather  hear  a 
stump-sucking  horse  than  to  have  a  man  hem 
and  haw  and  mouth  his  words  trying  to  find 
one  long  enough.  Blow  it  out.'  If  you'd  burn 
up  all  the  books  and  start  over  I  believe  the 
world  would  be  better  off.  Why,  confound  it, 
you'll  go  crazy  if  you  try  to  read  the  half  of 
them.  Let  us  have  common  sense.  Why,  if 
one  man  thinks  he  knows  more  than  another  he 
begins  to  put  on  airs  over  him.  There  can't  be 
any  true  democracy  as  long  as  one  man  thinks 
he.  knows  more  than  another." 

Their  controversy  seemed  to  throw  a  sort  of 
twilight  about  Zaleme  and  me  and  I  was  grate 
ful,  for  it  granted  me  a  chance  to  speak 
to  her,  but  there  was  not  much  of  spirit  in  her 
reply — she  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  some 
thing  that  lay  beyond  the  fields.  Dinner  was 
announced  and  I  was  astonished  at  the  short- 


A   MARBLE   SHAFT.  233 

ness  of  the  forenoon,  but  time  is  sometimes 
swift,  even  when  we  fret  it  away.  At  the  table 
Mr.  Acklin  began  to  help  me  to  his  pasty  foods, 
and  Stephen  shook  with  chuckling.  He  said 
that  if  he  had  thought  about  it  he  would  have 
brought  some  millet  for  us,  as  he  had  some  of 
excellent  quality,  recently  shipped  to  him.  "By 
the  way,  Liza,"  he  said,  speaking  to  his  broth 
er's  wife,  "when  I  was  out  here  some  time  ago 
I  thought  you  were  making  wild  grape  wine?" 

"I  was/'  Mrs.  Acklin  answered. 

"But  I  don't  see  any  of  it,  and  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  there  ain't  anything  better  than  wild 
grape  wine — if  it's  made  right." 

"Stephen,  you  know  that  I  don't  want  any 
wine  at  my  table." 

"Oh,  I  know  that — not  the  ordinary  wine 
that  you  buy.  If  I  hadn't  known  that  I  would 
have  brought  some  along  with  me.  And  speak 
ing  about  wine  reminds  me  that  I  saw  a  china 
set  some  time  ago,  Liza,  that  would  look 
mighty  well  on  your  table — don't  know  why  it 
reminds  me,  but  it  does.  John,  what  has  be 
come  of  that  big  silver  mug  you  got  at  the 


234  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

county  fair  as  a  premium  for  that  blooded 
heifer?  That  was  about  as  fine  a  calf  as  I  ever 
saw,  but  I  think  Liza  deserves  more  of  the 
credit  than  you  do.  Now,  I  never  tasted  any 
juicier  mutton  than  this.  Some  people  object 
to  sheep  on  account  of  what  they  call  a  woolly 
taste.  That's  what  I  like  about  it — when  there 
are  certain  additions,  you  understand.  With 
me  it  always  called  for  wild  grape  wine — that's 
a  fact,  just  wild  grape  wine.  Claret,  the  sort 
we  get  even  at  the  best  places,  ruins  mutton, 
but  wild- 

"Liza,"  said  Mr.  Acklin,  "let  him  have  some 
of  that  wine." 

"Oh,  no,"  Stephen  broke  in,  "not  if  it's 
against  her  principles,  John.  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  about  it,  you  know,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  this  mutton.  The  next  time  I  hope  you'll 
have  beef  and  then  there  won't  be  any  tempta 
tion." 

Mrs.  Acklin  left  the  table  and  soon  returned 
with  the  silver  mug  brimming  with  the  red  juice 
of  'the  wild  grape.  She  asked  me  if  I  would 
not  honor  her  with  drinking  a  goblet  of  it,  and 


A   MARBLE   SHAFT.  235 

I  wanted  it  like  a  shark  wants  blood,  but  I  was 
afraid  of  her  principles ;  but,  ah,  the  delicious- 
ness  of  a  moment  later,  a  grateful  look  from 
Zaleme !    Stephen  "ah  hahed"  and  smacked  his 
lips.     "Liza,"  said  he,  "you  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  you  made  this?    Oh,  I  know  you  did,  but 
somebody  must  have  advised  you.    Why,  John, 
it  takes  experience  to  make  wine  like  this.  Now, 
some  people  would  have  made  it  a  little  too 
sharp  or  a  little  too  sweet,  but  it  is  just  right. 
You  may  help  me  to  another  piece  of  that  mut 
ton  if — never  mind.    It  would  call  for  another 
mug  of  wine  and — but  if  Liza  has  no  objec 
tions — thank  you."   Mrs.  Acklin  took  the  mug 
and  went  out  with  it  and  Stephen  looked  after 
her  with  a  broad  smile,  reminding  me  of  the 
jack-o'-lantern  we  used  to  make  of  a  pumpkin. 
How  he  overshadowed  us,  this  great  steam  en 
gine  with  gauge  dancing.   His  mind  lay  in  his 
cheerfulness,  his  fullness  of  life,  and  intellects 
compared  with  which  his  might  have  been  but 
feeble,  yielded  to  the  domination  of  his  flesh. 
And  in  the  law  and  in  politics  I  have  often  seen 
size  win  victory  over  merit. 


236  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

The  two  mugs  of  wild  wine,  almost  a  gallon, 
I  am  sure,  made  Stephen  tame  enough,  and  he 
dozed  on  the  veranda ;  and  Mr.  Acklin  showed 
an  inclination  to  nod.  I  asked  Zaleme  if  she 
would  walk  with  me  in  the  orchard,  and  in  her 
ready  consent  there  was  a  delicious  charm  of 
manner.  As  we  strolled  forth  I  pulled  at 
leaves  and  tall  grasses,  she  at  my  side;  and  I 
said  to  myself:  "If  I  should  ever  win  you, 
perhaps  in  the  years  to  come  I  might  be  able 
to  study  you  closely,  but  now  I  am  too  much 
dazzled  to  see  you  clearly."  At  times  I  almost 
wished  that  she  would  do  something  to  offend 
me,  that  I  might  study  her  defects.  Surely  it 
was  not  a  love  but  a  disease  seeking  relief.  She 
talked  with  a  frank  charm  and  we  heard  our 
laughter  echoing  among  the  cliffs  far  down 
the  creek.  I  thought  I  was  plucking  a  lily,  but 
it  was  her  hand,  and  I  held  it  as  we  walked 
along,  and  her  cheeks  were  aglow  and  her  eyes 
were  cast  down,  as  if  she  were  nearly  asleep, 
dreaming.  And  now  her  laughter  did  not 
echo  among  the  cliffs;  it  was  sweet  and  low 
and  it  echoed  in  my  heart.  I  thought  of  the 


A   MARBLE   SHAFT.  237 

wild  grape  wine  as  I  gazed  upon  her  lips,  and 
I  thirsted  for  them;  but  she  leaped  from  me 
with  a  cry ;  and  she  stood  gazing  at  me,  her  lips 
close  and  her  eyes  stern.  What  was  that  be 
tween  her  and  me?  A  marble  shaft  not  more 
than  two  feet  high,  a  monument  above  a  little 
mound.  I  leaned  against  an  old  apple  tree  and 
looked  at  her,  and,  ah,  was  she  coming  out 
of  the  dazzle?  How  pale  she  was,  ghastly — 
freckled. 

"Who — what  is  buried  here?"  I  asked;  and 
stooping  over  I  saw  the  Alamo  engraved  upon 
the  shaft.  "I  have  asked  you " 

"But  you  must  not,"  she  replied.  "Please 
don't." 

"But  I  will.  What  does  this  mean  ?  You 
won't  tell  me.  I  de — I  can't  demand.  I  beg, 
my  heart  begs,  as  old  Sam  Hall's  once  begged. 
I  am  imploring  you  for — for  life.  Tell  me  and 
I — I  pardon  it  all,  I  forgive  everything." 

Oh,  the  glorious  light  that  for  a  moment 
illumined  her  face.  She  clasped  her  hands  over 
her  bosom  and  looked  upward  and  said  to  her 
self,  "A  love  like  this — -thank  God !"  But  sud- 


238  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

denly  she  threw  her  hands  apart,  leaned  toward 
me,  straightened  back  and  with  a  hard  look  in 
her  eye  she  said :  "You  have  nothing  to  for 
give,  nothing  to  pardon,  Mr.  Howardson.  Let 
us  go  back  to  the  house." 

"But  won't  you  please  tell  me  what  is  buried 
here?" 

"Something  that  is  Sacred  to  me.  Let  us  go 
back." 

"Not- until  you  have  told  me." 

"Don't  urge  me  now.  After  a  while  I  will 
tell  you." 

"But  why  not  now?  Don't  you  see  how  I 
am  suffering  ?  It  is  like  a  man  pleading  for  his 
life.  I  have  thrown  away  all  of  my  dignity — 
everything.  You  can  see.  And  now  why " 

That  light  illumined  her  again.  "Because  I 
want  to  feel  that  I  am  loved;  and  when  I  tell 
you  I  can  not  listen  again.  Oh,  don't  try  to 
understand  me.  I  am  not  worth  so  much — 
love.  But  God  knows — no,  don't  touch  me! 
Would  you  have  my  soul  sent  to  torment?  Let 
me  go  back  to  the  house." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  LANTERN  AND  THE  OATH. 

I  do  not  know  how  I  got  away  from  that 
place.  It  was  like  breaking  out  of  a  nightmare, 
a  smothering  spell.  I  don't  believe  I  saw  any 
thing  on  the  road  to  town;  I  didn't  recall  the 
valleys,  a  stream  where  I  had  to  step  upon 
stones,  a  toll  gate  where  a  fierce  dog  always 
barked.  It  was  all  a  blank  till  I  reached  the 
tavern,  and  then  I  heard  the  clatter  of  dishes 
and  inhaled  an  odor  that  sickened  me.  The 
air  was  close,  I  couldn't  breathe,  and  I  hastened 
out  of  the  town  and  stood  upon  a  hill  where 
cannon  were  planted  during  the  great  war.-  I 
sat  down  under  a  tree.  Martins  flew  past  to 
their  roost  in  the  eaves  of  the  churches;  dusk 
came  up  out  of  the  valley  and  made  the  hilltop 
brown.  Lights  leaped  out  of  the  darkness  afar 
239 


24o  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

off;  a  railway  train  shrieked  in  the  distance — 
and  when  morning  came  I  sat  there,  wet  with 
the  dew.  A  man  driving  a  cow  loitered  near  and 
I  asked  if  he  could  direct  me  to  Major  White's 
place,  and  he  pointed  to  a  turnpike,  running  to 
the  left  of  my  road — my  fateful  road — and 
told  me  to  stop  at  the  second  house  beyond  the 
creek.  I  didn't  inquire  as  to  the  distance;  I 
didn't  care.  All  I  wanted  was  some  sort  of 
object  in  my  mind's  view,  it  made  but  little 
difference  how  far  off  it  might  be.  I  halted 
at  a  wayside  place  and  ordered  breakfast,  but 
when  it  came  upon  the  table  I  sickened  at  the 
sight  of  it  and  hastened  from  the  house.  A 
friendly  old  man  in  a  carry-all  offered  to  take 
me  up  with  him,  but  I  told  him  that  I  hadn't 
far  to  go.  He  asked  how  far,  and  when  I  told 
him  he  laughed  and  remarked  that  I  must  be 
fond  of  walking.  But  I  found  a  sort  of  mad 
relief  in  physical  exertion  and  was  thankful 
that  the  road  was  not  shorter.  And  why  did  I 
wish  to  trudge  out  to  Major  White's  place? 
To  see  that  faded  woman,  that  bloodless  thing, 
that  phantom.  I  wanted  to  demand  of  her  the 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.         241 

secret  of  her  influence  over  Zaleme.  Ha,  I 
repeated  her  name,  over  and  over,  Zaleme, 
Zaleme;  and  it  sounded  further  and  further 
away.  Did  her  father  grasp  my  hand  at  the 
gate,  grip  it  hard,  and  say  something  in  a 
wavering  voice?  Was  Stephen  himself  seri 
ous  as  I  walked  forth  from  the  house? 
I  could  not  tell.  I  had  visions,  and  as 
some  of  them  were  absurd,  I  was  afraid 
to  let  any  of  them  serve  as  a  memory. 
And  I  was  going  to  demand  of  that  girl  why 
her  brother,  the  editor,  hushed  up  so  suddenly 
after  speaking  of  the  fact  that  Zaleme  had  been 
engaged.  I  crossed  the  creek,  passed  the  first 
house,  and  there  was  White's  place,  with  a 
hedge  of  cedars  in  the  front  yard,  a  white  house 
so  neatly  painted  and  clean  that  I  was  afraid 
of  it;  and  I  walked  past  and  halted  further 
down  the  road  and  stood  looking  over  a  fence 
where  a  man  was  feeding  sheep.  I  inquired  if 
he  knew  whether  Major  White  were  at  home, 
and  he  answered  that  he  was  the  man.  I  could 
have  knocked  him  down  for  saying  it ;  and  thus 
made  bold  by  anger  I  told  him  that  I  wished  to 

16 


242  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

see  his  daughter.  It  was  blunt,  but  did  not  dis 
please  him.  I  introduced  myself,  we  shook 
hands  and  he  went  with  me  to  the  house.  This 
would  have  been  well  enough  had  he  stopped 
there,  but  he  didn't;  he  wanted  to  be  cordial 
and  he  heaped  annoying  attentions  upon  me — 
introduced  me  to  his  wife  and  a  neighbor 
woman.  But  why  did  not  Rhoda  come?  I 
knew  that  she  was  at  home;  I  had  heard  her 
singing  and  I  had  seen  her  flit  up  the  stairway 
like  a  ghost.  She  came  at  the  end  of  long  wait 
ing;  she  was  so  pleased  to  welcome  me  to  her 
home.  How  thoughtful  it  was  of  me,  but 
Texans  were  famous  for  their  ,chivalry.  How 
well  I  was  looking.  Kentucky  surely  agreed 
with  me. 

"Did  you  come  over  from  Mr.  Acklin's? 
Why  didn't  Zaleme  come  with  you?" 

"I  walked  directly  from  town,"  I  answered. 

"Walked!"  she  cried.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say  you  walked  all  that  distance?" 

"Yes,  but  I  am  not  yet  tired.  Will  you  walk 
out  with  me  ?  I  have  something  to  ask  you." 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.         243 

We  went  out  into  a  grove  of  black  walnut, 
and  I  remembered  that  I  had  not  asked 
pardon  for  my  abruptness  in  taking  leave  of 
White  and  the  two  women.  I  spoke  to  Rhoda 
about  it  and  she  declared  that  I  had  "intro 
duced  them  to  a  perfect  model  of  leave-taking." 
And  now  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  enforce 
my  demand.  "I  hope  you  will  not  think  ill  of 
me,  Miss  White " 

"Oh,  not  at  all.  I  shall  always  welcome  you 
at  any  time." 

"I  mean  that  you  will  not  think  ill  of  me  for 
my  great  concern  regarding — I  don't  know  how 
to  say  it,  but  I  want  to  know  something  of  Miss 
Acklin's  engagement." 

"I  would  prefer  not  to  discuss  it,  Mr.  How- 
ardson." 

"But  why?  that's  the  question.  I  have  a 
right  to  know." 

"Then  why  doesn't  she  tell  you?" 

"She  will — after  a  while,  but  I  want  to  know 


now." 


"It  is  not  so  profound  a  secret,  Mr.  Howard- 


244  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

son,  but  I  don't  care  to  talk  about  it.  It's  pain 
ful  to  me." 

"To  you !  Think  of  me.  I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  don't  mean  to  be  so  selfish.  But  I  must  know. 
Is  she  ashamed  of  it?  Was  the  fellow  so  far 
beneath  her  as  to " 

"Mr.  Howardson,  she  was  engaged  to  my 
brother.  If  you  wish  to  know  anything  further 
you  must  ask  her." 

I  left  her  there  in  the  walnut  grove,  and  fol 
lowing  directions  caught  up  from  a  man  whom 
I  met  in  the  road,  I  struck  out  toward  Mr.  Ack- 
lin's  house.  Her  brother!  Could  she  mean 
the  one  whom  I  had  met?  Suddenly  I  halted. 
What  had  Zaleme  meant  when  she  asked  if  I 
would  send  her  soul  to  torment?  And  then  I 
saw  that  diminutive  monument,  white  in  the 
green  grass ;  and  it  rose  before  me  till  I  could 
not  see  the  top  of  it,  but  always  in  view  was  the 
Alamo,  chiseled  near  the  base,  and  I  gazed  till 
it  turned  red,  as  if  with  the  blood  of  hero  mar 
tyrs,  and  then — black,  as  upon  it  fell  the  shadow 
of  my  heart.  In  the  midst  of  a  thick  wood  I 
came  to  a  creek,  blue  and  deep,  with  no  ford, 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.         245 

no  bridge  in  sight.  I  took  off  my  clothes,  tied 
them  into  a  bundle  and  swam  across,  and  the 
cold  water  refreshed  me  and  reminded  me  that 
I  had  eaten  nothing  that  day.  At  a  negro  cabin 
I  ate  a  bit  of  bacon  and  drank  buttermilk  from 
a  gourd  and  then  pushed  onward,  and  coming 
suddenly  upon  a  turnpike  I  looked  toward  the 
right,  and  there,  nof  far  off,  was  a  bridge,  and 
yes,  the  red  gables  of  Zaleme's  home.  But  this 
time  no  tremor  seized  me,  for  my  blood  was 
strong.  Visions  of  what  had  taken  place  when 
I  left  the  house  began  to  arise  before  me,  but  I 
did  not  falter  in  my  determination  to  see  her 
and  force  her  to  explain  the  cause  of  that  di 
minutive  grave  beneath  the  apple  tree.  I  did 
not  dare  to  speculate,  but  the  desire  to  see  the 
grave  now,  even  before  seeing  her,  arose  in  my 
mind  and  was  my  master.  Crossing  the  bridge, 
crouching  like  a  thief,  I  stole  up  the  creek  and 
entered  the  orchard,  and  though  I  had  not 
marked  the  spot  where  the  monument  stood, 
yet  my  heart  led  me  to  it.  Dropping  upon 
my  knees  I  gazed  at  the  Alamo  and  it  seemed 
to  be  turning  red.  But  what  were  those  letters 


246  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

cut  in  the  rock?  "A  voice  from  the  dead  was 
hushed,"  the  chisel  said,  and  I  tore  away  the 
grass  and  studied  the  accursed  sentence.  On 
the  grave  a  moss  rose  grew,  and  I  clutched  at 
it  to  tear  it  up  by  the  roots,  but  a  voice  arrested 
my  hand.  Was  Zaleme  calling  me?  I  listened, 
gazing  toward  the  house,  but  there  came  no 
other  sound ;  yes,  a  voice,  as  if  some  one  taking 
leave,  was  talking  back.  I  stood  up,  and  across 
a  corner  of  the  orchard  and  over  the  yard  fence 
I  gazed  and  saw  Rhoda  White  on  a  horse  trot 
ting  off  toward  the  bridge.  Ah,  she  had  come 
to  forestall  me,  to  strengthen  Zaleme  against 
me,  to  instill  more  of  her  poison.  There  was 
suddenly  a  slight  darkening  of  everything,  and 
I  was  startled,  but  looking  round  I  saw  that  the 
sun's  lower  rim  had  sunk  behind  a  hilltop,  far 
away.  The  latch  of  the  gate  clicked  and  my 
heart  leaped,  as  a  mad  man  might  leap  in  the 
dark;  and  now  I  began  to  tremble  and  to  feel 
that  I  must  run  away,  down  among  the  shadows 
of  the  creek,  for  I  saw  Zaleme  coming  toward 
me,  walking  dreamily,  her  eyes  cast  downward. 
And  she  did  not  come  directly  in  a  straight 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.          247 

line,  but  wandered  to  the  right  and  to  the  left. 
Ah,  she  was  pursuing  the  course  over  which 
she  and  I  had  strolled  while  she  dreamed, 
I  holding  her  hand.  And  she  awoke  the 
same  way,  with  a  start  at  the  grave.  "Oh," 
she  cried ;  and  in  the  twilight  of  the  apple  tree 
we  stood  with  heads  hung  low,  silent.  I  was 
almost  smothering  and  could  not  speak.  She 
pointed  and  I  sat  down  upon  the  sward,  leaning 
back  against  the  tree,  and  she  sat  down  near  by, 
her  hands  listless  in  her  lap. 

"Rhoda  told  me  you  were  coming." 
"I  saw  her  ride  away  just  now." 
"She  is  very  much  concerned  about  you,  Mr. 
Howardson." 

"She  is  more  concerned  about  you,  I  think. 
She  told  me  that  you  were  engaged  to  her 
brother.  The  one  I  met  in  town  ?" 

"No.  The  one  whose  last  message  to  me  is 
hushed  here,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  grave. 
I  arose,  I  could  sit  no  longer,  and  she  stood, 
too,  and  I  thought  I  saw  that  glorifying  light 
coming  upon  her,  but  it  was  only  a  last  gleam 
of  the  dying  sun.  "I  wanted  you  to  sit  down 


248  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

so  you  would  be  quieter,"  she  said.  "I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  tell  you  something." 

"Tell  it,  but  let  me  hear  it  as  I  am.  What 
do  you  mean  by  this?"  and  I  pointed  to  the 
words  cut  in  the  rock. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you.  But  you  must  give 
me  time  and  let  me  tell  it  in  my  own  way.  Will 
you  let  me  sit  down?  I  can  tell  it  better." 

"You  can  tell  it  well  enough  to  break  my 
heart.  But  please  sit  down." 

She  sat  down  and  pulled  at  the  grass  and 
sighed,  for  she  looked  tired. 

"Calvin  White,"  she  said,  and  pulled  at  the 
grass. 

"Was  that  his  name?" 

"Yes.  He  was  three  years  older  than  I  and 
had  known  me  always." 

"And  is  he  or  a  part  of  him  buried  here?" 

"A  part  of  his  soul — yes.  If  you  let  me  I 
will  tell  you.  He  loved  me — oh,  I  know  he  did 
— loved  me  when  he  was  but  a  child  and  was 
my  sweetheart,  and  on  our  way  to  school  we 
planned  the  home  we  were  going  to  build. 
How  graceful  he  was  as  he  grew  older,  and  at 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.         249 

school  he  took  the  prize  for  oratory.  And  he 
would  sit  for  hours  telling  me  of  his  love.  He 
studied  law,  but  he  did  not  practice.  His  mind 
took  a  commercial  turn  and  he  went  into  busi 
ness,  but  he  failed,  and  then  he  began  to  travel 
for  a  farm  implement  house  in  St.  Louis.  From 
time  to  time  he  was  advanced  till " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  what  about  the 
Alamo  ?  What  made  it  your  shrine  and  why  is 
it  engraved  here  on  this  marble?" 

"I  said  you  must  let  me  tell  it  in  my  own  way. 
He  was  advanced  from  time  to  time  till  he  was 
given  nearly  all  the  Southern  territory.  Three 
years  ago  we  met  for  the  last  time.  I  was  in 
San  Antonio,  on  a  visit  to  my  brother.  I  had 
never  seen  Calvin  so  nervous  and  anxious. 
And  for  the  first  time  he  began  to  doubt  my 
love  for  him.  He  declared  that  I  was  not  sad 
enough  when  away  from  him.  And  he  brooded 
'  over  it.  One  night  he  asked  me  to  go  to  the 
Alamo  with  him.  'Why  at  night?'  I  asked. 
'Because/  he  replied,  'I  want  you  to  take  a  vow 
with  me.'  The  Alamo  was  not  kept  open  at 
night,  but  he  borrowed  the  key  and  we  entered 


250  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

the  chamber  where  Bowie  died.  It  was  late.  I 
was  nervous  and  I  said  to  him :  'Calvin,  why 
did  you  bring  me  here  at  such  a  time.  Let  us 
go,  please.'  'Wait,  sweetheart/  he  replied, 
and  he  put  his  lantern  on  the  floor.  I  can  see 
its  red  light  now.  Oh,  it  seems  to  be  on  the 
little  grave!" 

"It  is  not  the  light  of  his  lantern  that  makes 
the  grave  red,"  I  cried.  "It  grew  red  under  my 
gaze,  with  the  blood  that  rushed  across  my 
vision ;  but  soon  it  will  be  black  with  the  shadow 
of  my  heart." 

"Oh,  don't  talk  that  way.  If  you  would  only 
be  reasonable." 

"But  what  is  buried  here?    Tell  me." 

"He  put  his  lantern  on  the  ground  and  said 
to  me :  'I  want  you  to  take  an  oath.  You  be 
lieve  in  the  soul,  and  so  do  I.  You  believe  that 
the  soul  can  suffer  throughout  eternity,  and  so 
do  I.  And  now  in  this  corner  I  will  draw  a 
cross.  See,  I  draw  it  with  my  finger.  That 
makes  it  imperishable  in  the  mind  in  the  years 
to  come,  whenever  we  look  into  this  corner  we 
shall  see  the  cross.  You  might  destroy  the  wall 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.         251 

but  the  cross  would  remain.'  His  words  scared 
me.  I  thought  something  terrible  must  be  com 
ing.  'Now/  he  said,  taking  my  hand,  'kneel 
with  me  and  repeat  after  me.'  Oh,  what  an 
oath  it  was,  and  as  I  gazed  the  cross  was  red 
as  if  with  blood.  The  oath — that  I  was  to  give 
my  soul  to  eternal  punishment  if  I  ever  married 
other  than  him — an  oath  by  the  love  of  mother, 
father,  Christ,  God!  It  was  terrible,  and  he 
gripped  my  hand  and  trembled  as  I  followed 
him.  As  a  general  thing  a  vow  may  not  amount 
to  much,  but  this  was  awful  and  I  felt  that  not 
to  save  my  life  could  I  break  faith  with  him; 
and  there  was  something  sweet  in  it  all,  even 
though  he  trembled  and  the  cross  stood  red  in 
my  sight.  I  was  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  he  loved  me — loved  me  as  I  wanted  to  be 
loved — knew  that  he  would  kill  himself  if  I 
did  not  love  him.  And  that  is  why  the  Alamo 
is  my  shrine." 

It  was  growing  dark.  I  could  not  see  the 
expression  of  her  face  as  she  looked  up.  I 
dropped  beside  her  on  my  knees.  "Go  on/'  I 
said.  "Why  this  grave?" 


252  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"I  came  home,  and  in  a  letter  not  long  after 
ward  he  said :  'I  am  going  back  to  San  An 
tonio  the  day  after  tomorrow  and  the  next  let 
ter  you  receive  from  me  will  be  written  in  the 
Alamo,  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross,  twelve  o'clock  at  night.'  The  mid 
night  letter  was  written  on  the  tenth  of  the 
month  and  was  put  into  the  letter  box  imme 
diately  afterward  I  know.  But  it  did  not  reach 
me  till  two  days  had  passed  and  then " 

"Well,  and  then?" 

"I  did  not  open  it — I  buried  it  here.  I  did 
not  open  it,  for  within  a  few  hours  after  writ 
ing  it  he  was  instantly  killed  in  a  railroad  ac 
cident — and  I  could  not  read  his  words — words 
from  the  dead.  So  I  put  the  letter  in  a  silver 
box  and  buried  it  here.  To  some  persons  this 
may  be  absurd,  but — but  I  could  not  have 
helped  doing  it.  You  have  a  temperament  that 
you  can't  explain,  perhaps,  and " 

"And  you  don't  know  what  was  in  the  let 
ter?" 

"I  told  you  that  I  did  not  read  it — that  I 
couldn't  bear  to  read  a  letter  from  the  dead." 


LANTERN  AND  OATH.          253 

"But  you  must  read  it." 

"I  will  not." 

'Then,  like  a  jackal,  I  will  dig  it  up.  I  will 
shout  its  contents  under  your  window  at  night. 
I " 

"Please  don't  say  that.  Don't  you  know  that 
I  am " 

"No,  I  don't  know  what  you  are.  Yes,  I  do. 
You  are  the  bride  of  a  fallacy.  You  are  the  wife 
of  a  memory,  an  oath ;  and  a  priestess,  a  phan 
tom,  a  ghost,  a  moonbeam  upon  a  sunken  grave 
— a  woman  named  White  holds  you,  has  tied 
you  with  an  undertaker's  lowering  lines."  She 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  the  grass  which  she  had 
pulled  up  she  scattered  upon  me.  "A  finger 

mark  on  a  wall — a  nothing "  God,  I  saw  it 

before  me  in  the  air,  and  I  shut  my  eyes,  but  I 
saw  it  still,  the  mark  of  a  finger  dipped  in 
blood.  I  turned  to  her  and  the  cross  was  be 
tween  us.  "You  say  that  I  have  a  temperament 
that  I  may  not  be  able  to  explain.  Yes,  but  I 
did  not  have  it  until  you  gave  it  to  me.  No 
human  being  ever  fought  another  as  hard  as 
I  fought  you,  but  it  was  useless  and  I  fell.  I 


254  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

had  been  ambitious  and  my  ambition  was  within 
my  reach  till  I  knew  you,  and  then  you  blighted 
my  mind  to  all  else  except  yourself.  Could  you 
imagine  a  man  kept  from  water  till  he  was 
famishing  of  thirst?  Could  you  imagine  a 
child,  gaunt-eyed  with  hunger?  Could  you 
imagine  an  old  man  smothering  to  death  ?  Then 
you  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  my  heart." 

"You  must  go,"  she  said.  "Go  back  to  your 
home  and  wait  and  wait  and,  but  one  of  these 
days  you  may  hear  from  me.  Don't  come  here 
again.  Go  and  wait."  I  put  out  my  hands  but 
she  fled  from  me  and  I  stood  there  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LOOKED  AGAIN  UPON  HER  HOME. 

Exhaustion  forced  me  to  sleep  and  a  bloody 
finger  traced  a  red  mark  through  my  slumber. 
The  southbound  train  was  to  leave  at  6 130  the 
next  morning  and  I  left  a  call  at  the  hotel  office, 
though  I  did  not  need  to,  as  I  was  awake  in 
time.  "Go  and  wait,"  was  in  my  ears  constant 
ly  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  my  heart  to 
drag  a  hope  therein;  but  a  famishing  thirst 
is  not  appeased  with  one  drop  of  water.  A 
gleam  of  reason  began  to  light  up  my  mind,  so 
long  dark;  and  I  seemed  to  look  into  corners 
where  there  was  mold,  chilling  dampness.  I 
went  to  the  station,  bought  a  ticket,  sat  down, 
got  up  on  a  sudden,  walked  rapidly  away,  faster 
and  faster,  almost  running ;  and  from  a  hilltop 
I  looked  upon  her  home.  I  had  no  thought  of 
255 


256  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

going  to  the  grave;  once  it  held  a  horror  for 
me,  but  now  it  was  full  of  words.  But  those 
words,  how  they  held  her  though  she  had  never 
seen  them  and  was  not  acquainted  with  their 
meaning.  Perhaps  it  were  better  that  they 
should  not  be  dug  up.  Written  in  the  oath- 
corner,  beneath  the  wall  on  which  the  cross  had 
been  traced,  they  might  seize  upon  her  mind 
and  hold  it  with  a  tighter  grip. 

I  let  the  gate  slam  to  attract  attention,  but 
no  one  came  or  looked  out  upon  me.  I  knocked 
at  the  door  and  an  empty  echo  was  the  only 
answer.  Surely  not  every  one  was  gone;  it 
was  still  so  early ;  and  I  sat  down  in  a  rocking- 
chair.  Presently  a  negro  woman  came  round 
the  house  and  seeing  me  remarked  by  way  of 
apology  that  she  thought  some  one  must  have 
been  knocking  at  the  door.  I  asked  for  Zaleme, 
and  was  informed  that  Mr.  Acklin  and  his  wife 
had  just  gone  over  to  a  neighbor  that  wasn't 
very  well.  I  asked  a  second  time  for  Zaleme 
and  was  told  that  she  must  be  walking  about 
the  place  somewhere.  It  was  at  least  encourag 
ing  to  know  that  she  had  not  vanished  from  the 


LOOKED  UPON  HER  HOME.  257 

face  of  the  earth ;  and  what  was  that  my  treach 
erous  inner  self  was  saying?  "Listen  and  you 
may  hear  her  singing  in  the  garden."  And  I 
did  listen  but  heard  no  song.  It  may  not  have 
been  more  than  a  minute,  but  it  seemed  that  a 
long  time  had  passed  when  Zaleme  came  round 
the  corner  of  the  house.  She  did  not  see  me; 
she  went  to  the  gate  and  stood  looking  toward 
town.  I  got  up  and  stood  under  the  vine  that 
hung  above  the  steps  leading  to  the  veranda. 
"Zaleme,"  I  spoke  softly,  and  she  looked  up 
ward.  "Zaleme!"  I  spoke  louder,  and  she 
turned  toward  me,  and  she  was  not  startled, 
but  came  walking  toward  me  as  if  in  a  dream, 
as  she  had  walked  when  I  held  her  hand.  I 
reached  forth  my  hand  as  she  approached  and 
then  she  seemed  to  awake  and  she  drew  back. 
But  she  came  up  the  steps  and  sat  down,  putting 
her  hair  back  from  her  eyes.  How  pale  she 
was,  and  she  looked  so  tired.  Surely  that  moth, 
that  funereal  thing,  that  bloodless  woman,  had 
bewitched  her. 

"Zaleme,  I  tried  to  go  away,  but  I  couldn't." 

"You  must.     I  can't — can't  stand — every- 
a? 


258  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

thing.  You  have  begged  me  to  love  you. 
Would  you  marry  a  woman  who  did  not  love 
you?" 

"Yes,  if  I  loved  her  as — as  woefully  as  I  love 
you — in  the  hope  that  I  might  learn  to  hate  her ; 
and  then  in  the  soreness  of  a  revengeful  heart 
I  would  laugh  in  her  face  and  run  away." 

That  strange  starlight  came  to  her  eyes,  and 
for  a  time  she  sat  as  if  in  wondering  silence, 
perfectly  still,  gazing  into  my  eyes;  and  then 
she  said,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her 
breast :  "Oh,  you  make  my  heart  weep."  And 
at  that  moment  I  thought  that  I  should  die, 
with  the  blinding  leap  of  my  blood,  and  I  must 
have  staggered  as  I  moved  toward  her,  with  my 
arms  spread  wide  apart.  But  when  my  eyes 
cleared  I  saw  that  her  countenance  had 
changed.  She  no  longer  seemed  entranced  with 
the  knowledge  that  I  loved  her;  the  pallor  of 
fear  overspread  her  face,  and  the  starlight 
was  gone  from  her  eyes.  Was  the  current  of 
her  soul  like  the  changeable  channel  of  a  treach 
erous  stream  ? 

"Zaleme,"  I  said,  steadying  myself,  "you  are 


LOOKED  UPON  HER  HOME.    259 

the  only  woman  I  ever  struggled  to  understand, 
and  you  are  the  strangest  of  all  women.  At 
one  moment  you  are  warm  with  the  thought  of 
my  love  and  then  cold  with  your  own  fear. 
Why  be  so  unnatural?  Let  us  be  reasonable, 
won't  you?" 

How  bitter  can  become  the  sweet  expression 
of  a  beautiful  mouth.  "Oh,  and  do  you  speak 
of  reason  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  realize  that  I  have  no  right  to. 
I  know  that  I  am  the  most  unreasonable  of  all 
men.  And  even  my  Creator  may  not  know  it 
so  well  as  you  do." 

"Mr.  Howardson,  if  you  don't  show  more 
reverence  you  must  not  talk  to  me." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  then  after  a  pause 
I  added:  "You  will  no  doubt  grant  me  the 
privilege  of  calling  myself  a  fool;  and  God 
may  hate  a  coward  but  he  pardons  a  fool.  And 
as  I  am  already  pardoned  above,  may  I  hope 
to  be  forgiven  here  below?" 

She  laughed,  almost  cruelly,  I  felt ;  but  there 
was  a  softness  in  her  eyes.  "Sometimes  you 
remind  me  of  a  schoolboy,"  she  said. 


260  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Ah,  and  what  is  more  real  than  a  school 
boy's  trouble — a  schoolboy's  love?" 

"But  does  a  schoolboy's  love  last?"  she  said, 
and  even  before  I  spoke  again  I  saw  a  pallor 
overspreading  her  face. 

"Does  it  ?"  I  cried.  "Does  it  live  to  be  buried 
alive  under  an  apple  tree?" 

I  thought  she  frowned  at  me  as  she  said : 
"How  it  pleases  you  to  take  an  advantage  of 
me.  It  seems  you  would  be  delighted  to  know 
that  no  one  had  ever  been  true — except  your 
self." 

"Ah,  you  know  I  am  true.  As  for  others — 
another,  you  can  simply  surmise." 

Her  eyes  snapped.  Never  had  she  seemed 
such  a  stranger  to  my  heart.  She  was  so  new 
to  me  that  I  could  not  assimilate  her,  and  I 
looked  at  her,  feeling  that  there  was  amaze 
ment  in  my  eyes,  and  there  must  have  been,  for 
with  a  cool  smile  she  said:  "You  look  as  if 
you  had  just  met  me  for  the  first  time  and  were 
astonished  at  something  strange  about  me." 

"I  feel  that  way.  But  why  should  we  talk 
to  each  other  in  this  manner?  I  reveal  myself, 


LOOKED  UPON  HER  HOME.  261 

for  I  cannot  conceal  my  heart;  but  you  hide 
yourself  from  me." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  nothing  to 
hide." 

"You  have.  You  hide  the  words  of  a  man. 
You  are  afraid  of  them.  You  have  buried  them 
in  the  dark  earth  and  you  are  afraid  to  see  them 
wither  and  turn  to  nothing  in  the  light  of  the 
sun.  Come,  we  will  dig  up  the  letter.  We  will 
take  it  to  the  Alamo  and  at  midnight  we  will 
read  it  by  the  light  of  a  lantern.  Come,  I  dare 
you." 

She  was  coming  back  toward  my  heart, 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  I  trembled.  "You  dare. 
Let  us  enter  into  a  contract.  I  will  dig  up  the 
letter  and  read  it.  If  it  is  full  of  the  same  old 
love  you  are  to  go  away  and " 

"No !"  I  cried,  "I  will  not  enter  into  such  a 
contract." 

"Then  you  are  afraid  of  the  letter." 

"Yes,  I  acknowledge  I  am  afraid  of  it.  I  love 
you  so  much  that  I  am  afraid  to  look  with  you 
upon  a  past  that  is  yours  but  not  mine.  You 
said  that  you  would  want  a  man  to  love  you  so 


262  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

desperately  that  he  would  kill  himself  if  he 
believed  you  did  not  love  him,  I  am  that  man, 
Zaleme.  If  you  do  not — cannot  love  me,  I  will 
kill  myself.  Do  you  think  I  would  continue  to 
fight  as  I  have  fought  ?  Don't  you  know  I  would 
say  to  God :  'Here  is  a  soul  that  you  have  seen 
tortured.  Take  it  and  give  it  relief  by  sending 
it  to  hell !'  " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Howardson — Lucian — rdon't  talk 
that  way.  Yes,  say  it  again,  and  God  forgive 
me  for  listening  and  finding  it  sweet  to  my 
heart.  No — you  must  not  touch  me — no,  not 
now.  Lucian,  I  am  so  slow  to  change  that 
when  I  do,  I  must  have  received  a  new  nature — 
and  time  must  pass  before  I  can  become  accus 
tomed  to  myself.  But — but  I  do  believe  I  have 
been  born  again.  No,  not  yet.  Please  don't 
misunderstand  me.  Oh,  you  don't  know  how 
steadfast  I  am.  Who  knows  what  may  come? 
Lucian,  will  you  do  my  bidding?  Yes,  you  will. 
Then  go  back  and  re-enter  the  fight  into  which 
your  ambition  leads  you — and  win.  Won't 
you — for  me?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  not  tremulous  now,  but  as 


LOOKED  UPON  HER  HOME.    263 

strong  as  oak.  "I  will  go  back  and  win  the 
fight — for  you.  But  before  I  say  good-bye,  will 
you  walk  with  me,  once  more,  in  the  orchard  ?" 

She  gave  me  an  earnest  look.  "You  want 
to  go  to  the  monument,  and  it  will  distress 
you." 

"No,  not  to  the  monument,  but  only  in  that 
direction." 

Did  she  understand  that  I  hungered  for  that 
dreamy  walk,  holding  her  hand  as  I  held  it, 
leading  her  when  first  we  went  to  the  grave? 
Yes,  she  understood  for  she  gave  me  her  hand 
and  I  led  her  forth,  through  the  gate,  into  the 
orchard;  but  she  did  not  dream  as  she  had 
dreamed  before;  she  was  self-conscious — she 
halted,  looked  at  me  and  said :  "The  dream 
won't  come." 

"It  is  because  we  know  that  the  grave  is  over 
there." 

"No,  that  is  not  the  reason,  for  it  came  once 
after  we  had  gone  together  to  the  grave.  No, 
it  is  useless.  Oh,"  she  cried,  grasping  my 
arm,  "there  is  the  red  cross  in  the  sky.  Don't 
you  see  it?" 


264  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  shut  my  eyes,  but  I  saw  it,  red,  traced  upon 
a  white  cloud  as  if  by  the  bloody  finger  of  a 
giant.  "We  are  both  insane,  Zaleme,"  I  said, 
looking  at  her. 

"Let  us  go  back,"  she  replied ;  and  we  turned 
about. 

"You  said  you  would  go  and  win  the  fight. 
When  will  you  start?" 

"I  will  leave  on  the  night  train.  Is  that 
soon  enough  ?" 

"Yes,  too  soon  if  I  were  to  consult "  she 

hesitated. 

"Zaleme,  why  are  you  so  afraid  you  might 
say  something  to  encourage  me?  Is  it  that 
you  would  always  keep  my  heart  dark  and 
heavy  ?  Won't  you  lighten  it  with  a  promise — 
that  you  will  write  to  me?" 

"Yes,  I  will  answer  your  letters." 

"And  you  will  write  with  more  freedom  than 
you  have  talked?" 

"I  have  told  you  the  truth  and  I  couldn't  be 
freer  than  that.  Do  you  want  me " 

"I  want  you  to  say  that  my  love  is  not  thrown 
away — I  want  you  to  say  that  you  love  me." 


LOOKED  UPON  HER  HOME.    265 

"You  don't  want  me  to  say  it  unless " 

she  hesitated  and  looked  up  at  me  with  a  smile. 
"I  told  you  that  when  I  change  I  must  have 
received  a  new  nature — and  if  I  have  received 
one,  I  must  have  time  to  comprehend  it." 

We  were  now  at  the  gate.  The  thorn  of  a 
rose  bush  caught  her  hand  and  pricked  it. 
"Good-bye,"  I  said,  and  seizing  her  hand  I 
kissed  the  wound — and  I  went  away  with  her 
blood  on  my  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

STEPHEN  SHEDS  LIGHT. 

Just  as  I  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
Mr.  Acklin,  in  his  buggy,  overtook  me.  He 
drew  up,  calling  out  that  he  had  something  of 
a  serious  nature  to  impart  to  me,  and  my  blood 
leaped  and  my  heart  quickened  as  I  stepped  into 
the  buggy  and  sat  down  beside  him.  And  then 
we  drove  along  in  silence.  Was  he  going  to 
speak?  Had  he  forgotten  the  something  of 
serious  nature  ?  It  may  not  have  been  but  a  few 
moments,  but  it  seemed  that  a  long  time  had 
passed  when  he  said : 

"Mr.  Howardson,  if  I  had  known  the  state 
of  your  mind  I  would  not  have  taken  such  a 
liberty  with  you — and  I  regret  the  many  quiet 
laughs  I  have  had  at  your  expense." 

"Mr.  Acklin,  please  speak  plainer.     I  don't 

understand  you." 

266 


STEPHEN   SHEDS  LIGHT.      267 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  am  going  to  do,  Mr. 
Howardson.  You  have  no  doubt  discovered 
that  I  am  not  a  commonplace  man ;  in  fact,  you 
must  have  seen  that  we  are  not  a  commonplace 
family.  A  peculiar  humor  is  a  trait  among  us. 
When  you  first  came  to  my  house — not  know 
ing  the  state  of  your  mind,  as  I  before  remarked 
— I  pretended  to  discover  or  to  understand  that 
you  were  an  adherent  of  my  belief — vegetari 
anism;  and  having  sworn  my  family  to  the 
secrecy  of  the  joke,  I  settled  down  to  a  sly 
enjoyment  of  it,  just  as  for  years  I  have  en 
joyed  Editor  White — but  I  charge  you  not  to 
say  a  word  about  it  to  him.  But  the  state  of 
your  mind — I  might  say  heart — has  been 
revealed  to  me,  Mr.  Howardson,  and  I  now 
beg  your  pardon." 

"Mr.  Acklin,  I  hope  you  haven't  driven  after 
me  to  speak  of  a  thing  so  trivial." 

"It  is  not  trivial  to  me,  Mr.  Howardson, 
knowing  as  I  do  the  state  of  your  mind." 

1  "Well,  sir,"  I  cried,  "what  have  you  to  say 
concerning  it?" 

"Not  so  loud,  my  dear  sir.    What  have  I  to 


268  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

say?  Why,  I  appreciate  your  condition.  I  can 
not  say  that  I  have  been  situated  exactly  as 
you  are,  having  become  the  master  of  my  tem 
perament  at  quite  an  early  age,  that  is  in  an 
emotional  way ;  but  my  mastery  of  diet  did  not 
come  until  a  period  much  later.  But  now, 
sir,  coming  straight  to  the  point  of  the  question 
at  issue,  I  am  sorry  that  a  previous — well,  en 
tanglement,  should  in  any  way  blind  my 
daughter  to " 

I  grasped  his  hand  and  pulled  it  so  hard  in 
my  effort  to  draw  it  toward  me  that  the  horse 
turned  aside  and  halted  with  his  forefeet  in 
the  gutter. 

"Gently,"  said  Mr.  Acklin.  "And  now," 
he  added,  "having  said  all  I  intended  to  say  by 
inference  if  not  directly  in  words,  I  think  I  will 
bid  you  good-bye  here  and  return  home.  It  is 
only  a  short  distance  to  your  hotel." 

I  got  out  and  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
loath  to  loosen  my  grasp  I  retained  my  hold, 
eager,  struggling  to  utter  words  that  would 
not  come  to  me.  In  the  ardor  of  my  gratitude 
I  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  during  the  long 


STEPHEN   SHEDS   LIGHT.      269 

period  of  our  acquaintance,  .and  remembering 
that  I  had  known  him  but  a  short  time,  I  took 
it  all  back  and  started  off  anew,  only  to  fall 
into  other  embarrassments.  And  how  patient 
he  was,  with  a  sad  smile  on  his  face,  kindly 
waiting;  but  how  rough  to  me  was  even  the 
gentlest  parting,  for  in  him  I  saw  a  strong 
encouragement,  and  to  see  him  driving  away 
was  to  look  upon  a  new-born  hope  going  from 
me,  to  sink  out  of  sight  beyond  the  hill.  I 
strove  to  make  him  understand  that  without 
Zaleme  there  would  be  no  light  for  .me,  that 
life,  if  indeed  it  should  endure,  would  be  but 
a  smothering  darkness. 

"Mr.  Howardson/'he  said,  and  his  face  grew 
brighter,  "let  us  both  hope.  If  she  has  told 
you  to  do  something,  no  matter  what  it  may 
be,  do  it  and — wait.  That  is  all  I  can  say — 
with  regard  to  her,  but  as  to  myself  in  relation 
to  you  I  could  say  much  more  if  it  were  neces 
sary,  but  it  is  not,  for  you  understand.  Good 
bye." 

He  turned  the  horse  about,  waved  his  hand 
at  me  and  drove  away,  and  I  looked  after  him 


270  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

until  a  hilltop  arose  between  us.  The  tavern 
bells  were  ringing  the  noon  hour.  I  passed  the 
court  room  of  a  magistrate,  and  saw  a  jury 
filing  out  to  dinner.  Editor  White  followed 
with  a  piece  of  paper  (notes  for  his  newspaper) 
fluttering  in  his  hand.  He  saluted  me,  looking 
sharply  at  me,  and  taking  my  arm  walked  with 
me  down  the  street,  talking  of  the  case  on  trial, 
but  thinking  of  something  else,  I  fancied — of 
Zaleme. 

"You  have  just  come  in  from  Mr.  Acklin's, 
haven't  you?" 

"Yes,  and  have  just  left  Mr.  Acklin." 
"Did   he   say  anything  about   my  brother 
Calvin?" 

"No,  why  should  he  say  anything?" 
"Oh,  he  might  have  his  reasons." 
"Great  Caesar!"  I  exclaimed  irritably,  "his 
daughter   is   not  engaged    to   your   brother's 
ghost." 

"Not  in  the  least — certainly  not." 
For  a  time  we  walked  on  in  silence,  turned 
toward  his  office  and  halted  near  his  place  of 
daily  toil.     "Won't  you  come  in?"  he  asked. 


STEPHEN   SHEDS  LIGHT.      271 

appearing  to  have  something  on  his  mind.  But 
I  did  not  care  to  hear  of  his  brother,  and  I 
said,  "No,  I  thank  you."  I  gave  him  an  op 
portunity  to  go,  stepping  back  for  that  purpose, 
but  he  stood  still. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said.  "Has  Stephen 
told  you  anything  about  my  brother?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I,  "but  is  your 
brother  on  every  man's  mind?" 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  not  so  much  on  any  man's 
mind  as  he  seems  to  be  on  yours." 

I  could  have  struck  him.  His  insulting  smile 
invited  a  blow ;  hot  blood  flew  to  the  ends  of  my 
fingers,  shutting  them  up  into  a  fist.  He  stepped 
back,  and  in  a  tone  of  unctuous  apology  de 
clared  that  he  meant  no  harm,  and  that  he 
wished  to  recall  his  offensive  words.  I  was  as 
willing  to  pardon  him  as  I  was  to  strike,  and 
I  told  him  so,  at  the  same  time  offering  my 
hand  in  proof  that  I  held  no  malice.  I  was  now 
more  than  willing  to  leave  him,  but  he  detained 
me,  not  with  holding  my  hand  or  with  words, 
but  by  manner,  an  atmosphere  that  pleaded 
with  me  to  stay ;  and  I  waited,  looking  at  him. 


272  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Mr.  Howardson,"  said  he,  "you  will  please 
pardon  me  if  I  speak  of  my  brother,  won't 
you?" 

"Yes,  speak  out." 

He  seemed  embarrassed.  "I  have  really 
nothing  to  say,  myself.  In  fact/ 1  am  troubled 
by  the  thought  of  what  some  one  else  may  say. 
Will  you  do  me  this  favor:  If  any  one — if 
Stephen  begins  to  tell  you  about  my  brother 
will  you  please  inform  him  that  you  do  not  care 
to  hear  it?  I  know  that  is  a  singular  request, 
but  will  you  make  me  that  promise  ?" 

"Mr.  White,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  make 
such  a  promise.  The  fact  is,  I  should  like  to 
hear  anything  of  your  brother  that  Stephen 
might  say.  But  I  am  going  away  today  and  I 
may  not  see  him  again." 

"Are  you  going  around  to  his  stable?" 

"Well,  I  may  not." 

"Would  you  mind  promising  me  that  you 
will  not?" 

"Why  should  I  make  you  any  promises  at 
all  ?  No,  I  won't  promise.  I  don't  understand 


STEPHEN   SHEDS  LIGHT.      273 

why  you  and  your  sister  should  wish  to  main 
tain  such  an  influence  over  Miss  Acklin.  I " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Howardson,  we  do 
not  wish  to  maintain  an  influence  over  her.  But 
we  were  fond  of  our  brother  and  we  honor  the 
sacred  relationship  that  existed  between " 

"I  have  heard  enough  of  that,  sir.  If  she 
were  your  brother's  widow  you  could  scarcely 
manifest  so  deep  an  interest  in  her.  Are  you 
willing  that  I  should  now  bid  you  good-bye?" 

He  bowed  and  turned  about,  and  I  went 
straightway  to  the  stable  to  see  Stephen.  The 
day  was  broiling  hot,  and  I  found  him  sitting 
on  his  bench,  with  collar  unbuttoned  and  rolled 
back,  exposing  his  hairy  chest.  He  did  not 
laugh  as  I  expected  he  would ;  he  arose,  shook 
hands  with  me  and  sat  down  without  saying  a 
word.  A  chair  was  near  by,  and  drawing  it 
forward  I  sat  down  beside  him  and  waited 
for  him  to  say  something.  After  a  time  he 
dropped  his  heavy  hand  upon  my  knee  and 
said :  "I  am  your  friend."  Was  it  his  great 
voice  that  shook  me  so?  That  he  might -not 


18 


274  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

see  my  weakness  I  turned  my  eyes  away,  look 
ing  at  misty  objects  down  the  street. 

"And  when  I  say  I'm  a  man's  friend,  I  mean 
it.  You  understand  me." 

"Yes,  and  I  thank  you." 

"That's  all  right.  I  went  over  to  see  Tommy 
White  this  morning  and  I  told  him  I  didn't 
think  it  was  fair  for  me  to  keep  silent  any 
longer  on  a  certain  subject." 

"Concerning  his  brother?"  I  eagerly  in 
quired. 

"Exactly.     How  did  you  know?" 

"I  met  Mr.  White  a  few  minutes  ago  and  he 
requested  me  to  promise  him  that  I  would  not 
permit  you  to  tell  me  anything  about  his 
brother." 

"Yes,  I  understand.  But  I'm  going  to  tell 
you,  because  I  believe  it  is  my  duty.  Something 
occurred  once  and  I  promised  White  that  I 
would  never  tell  Zaleme,  but  I  couldn't  read 
the  future  and  therefore  I  didn't  promise  not 
to  tell  you.  About  two  weeks  before  Calvin 
White  started  out  on  his  last  trip,  he  forged  my 
name  and  got  a  thousand  dollars  out  of  the 


STEPHEN   SHEDS   LIGHT.      275 

bank.  He  thought  I  was  a  good,  easy,  drink 
ing  sort  of  a  fellow,  and  would  never  discover 
the  crime ;  but  I  did,  and  in  mighty  short  order. 
Well,  I  went  to  Tommy  and  told  him  to  send 
for  his  brother.  We  were  in  the  Side-Board 
at  the  time.  He  did  so,  and  when  Cal  came 
I  opened  the  false  check  and  spread  it  out  on 
the  table.  'You  didn't  reckon  I'd  get  this  so 
soon'  said  I,  'but  the  cashier  of  the  bank  became 
a  little  suspicious  of  the  signature  after  the 
money  was  paid.'  Cal  turned  as  pale  as  salt 
and  Tommy  wanted  to  know  what  was  the 
matter.  'Nothing  at  all,  Tommy/  said  I, 
'nothing  only  your  brother  has  forged  my  name 
for  a  thousand  dollars.'  Cal  put  his  head  on 
the  table  and  blubbered  and  Tommy  got  up 
and  walked  about  the  room  with  his  hands 
behind  him ;  and  after  a  while  he  came  up  to  me 
and  said:  'Stephen,  are  you  going  to  see  an 
old  family  ruined?'  and  then  it  was  my  time 
and  I  said :  'Tommy,  am  I  going  to  see  my 
brother's  daughter  marry  a  thief?'  Tommy 
staggered  back,  and  Cal  groaned.  I  didn't  have 
it  in  my  heart  to  turn  him  over  to  the  law, 


276  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

especially  when  he  got  down  on  his  knees  and 
begged  me  so  hard.  They  said  they  would 
make  the  money  good.  Just  then  we  heard 
someone  coming  down  the  alley,  and  we 
all  hushed  up,  just  as  the  cashier  of  the  bank 
stepped  up  into  the  door.  Cal  looked  like  a 
ghost,  for  he  and  the  cashier  were  enemies.  'Mr. 
Acklin,'  said  the  cashier,  making  no  bones 
about  it,  'what  about  that  check  ?  You  told  our 
young  man  that  you'd  let  us  know.'  'Oh,  this 
check?'  said  I,  winking  at  Cal  to  keep  quiet. 
'Why,  it  is  as  good  as  gold.'  'I  know  all 
about  that,'  said  he,  'but  is  it  straight?'  'As 
any  string,'  I  swore,  and  asked  him  to  sit  down 
and  have  something,  but  he  frowned  and  said, 
'No,  thank  you,  I  never  drink.'  And  out  he 
walked.  Well,  sir,  I  always  liked  the  White 
boys,  and  they  begged  me  so  hard  that  I  not 
only  swore  that  I  wouldn't  tell  my  brother,  but 
swore  I  wouldn't  say  a  word  to  my  niece.  I 
had  faith  in  his  repentance,  but  I  was  sorry  of 
my  oath  as  far  as  Zaleme  was  concerned,  and  I 
'lowed  to  myself  that  I  would  tell  her  about 
the  time  I  saw  them  making  preparations  for 


STEPHEN   SHEDS  LIGHT.      277 

the  wedding.  But  it  wasn't  to  be,  for  he  got 
killed  soon  afterwards  and  that  ended  it,  in  a 
manner.  But  I  told  Tommy  that  you  ought  to 
know  it,  ought  under  the  circumstances  to  tell 
Zaleme,  and  he  begged  me  not  to  tell  you,  but 
I  want  to  say  that  I'm  not  as  soft  as  I  used 
to  be.  I  find  the  world  hard,  and  from  this 
time  on  I  am  going  to  act  accordingly.  Of 
course  no  effort  has  ever  been  made  to  pay  back 
the  thousand.  I  could  take  White's  printing 
office,  but  the  party  is  in  need  of  a  paper  and 
he  knows  more  about  fixing  up  campaign  lies 
than  I  do." 

He  leaned  back  and  bellowed.  He  laughed 
until  everything  near  us  seemed  to  shake,  and 
wiping  his  eyes  with  a  red  silk  handkerchief, 
big  enough  for  a  weather  signal,  he  remarked 
that  he  must  be  the  damnedest  fool  on  the 
earth.  "But  are  you  going  to  tell  Zaleme?'* 
he  asked,  and  our  eyes  met. 

"No.  I  don't  care  to  take  that  kind  of  an 
advantage." 

He  gripped  my  shoulder.  "That's  it,  be 
sportsmanlike.  It  will  all  come  right,  I  think. 


278  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

But  no  one  can  tell  anything  about  that  woman. 
I  have  studied  her  ever  since  she  was  a  child 
but  I'll  be  blamed  if  I  can  get  at  her.  I  found 
out  something  the  other  day,  and  it  weakened 
me  a  little  with  Tommy  and  his  sister.  Zaleme 
has  a  farm  up  the  creek — left  her  by  her  aunt — 
and  took  up  the  notion  of  selling  it  to  build  a 
big  monument  to  Cal,  over  on  old  Major 
White's  place,  and  Tommy  and  Rhoda,  as  the 
active  managers  of  the  scheme,  would  get  a 
good  slice  out  of  the  investment  money — more 
than  half,  I  bet  you.  And  that  is  the  reason 
they  want  to  keep  their  influence  over  her." 

It  was  all  clear  enough  now,  and  my  blood 
arose  against  Editor  White.  I  told  Stephen 
that  I  should  like  to  thrash  the  scoundrel. 

"Oh,  no,  don't  hurt  him.  Tommy's  a  first 
rate  hand  to  spend  an  evening  with;  and  he's 
got  a  pretty  fair  voice,  too — not  strong,  but 
a  good  deal  of  music  in  it  first  and  last." 

I  left  him  laughing  on  his  bench — I  looked 
back  and  saw  him  shaking.  And  now  the  long 
and  eventless  afternoon  was  before  me.  In 
my  room  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Zaleme,  but  upon 


STEPHEN   SHEDS   LPGHT.      279 

reading  it  and  finding  that  I  had  really  said 
nothing,  tore  it  to  pieces.  Later  I  wrote  another 
letter,  intending  to  make  it  more  moderate  in 
tone,  but  discovering  it  to  be  more  vehement, 
I  tore  that,  also,  and  was  about  to  go  out  when 
a  boy  announced  that  Miss  White  wished  to 
see  me  in  the  parlor.  She  was  the  same  blood 
less  creature. 

She  gave  me  her  cool  strip  of  a  hand  and  sat 
down  with  a  sigh,  and  her  breath  seemed  to 
chill  the  room,  as  if  on  a  winter's  day  some  one 
had  raised  a  window. 

"I  was  so  afraid  that  I  might  miss  you." 

"My  train  doesn't  leave  until  after  ten 
o'clock  tonight." 

"Yes,  but  you  know  you  men  are  so  hard 
to  find.  And  I  didn't  know  but  you  might 
be  off  somewhere  with  Mr.  Stephen.  Isn't  he 
genial — isn't  he  communicative?  And  I  sup 
pose  you  were  with  him.  But  not  in  that  place 
called  the  Side-Board,  I  hope.  Really,  now, 
were  you  there — and  it  is  there,  I'm  told,  that 
he  is  the  most  genial — most  communicative. 
Were  you  there  ?" 


28o  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"No,  I  went  to  see  him  at  his  stable." 

"And  I  suppose  that  as  usual,  he  had  a  crowd 
about  him.  Were  there  really  many  present?" 

"He  was  alone  when  I  found  him  and  alone 
when  I  left  him." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  she  said,  spreading  her  fan. 
"One  of  his  very  quiet  days.  They  are  rare, 
he  has  so  many  friends.  My  brother  Calvin 
was  deeply  attached  to  him:  Did  he  tell  you  so  ? 
Did  he  say  anything  at  all  about  him?" 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  know,  Miss  White? 
But  I  can  perhaps  save  you  the  trouble  of  fur 
ther  questions  when  I  tell  you  that  the  monu 
ment  is  not  likely  to  be  raised." 

She  could  not  turn  paler,  and  she  blushed; 
and  with  no  word,  not  even  a  parting  glance, 
she  shut  up  her  fan  and  walked  out,  and  in  my 
restless  sleep  that  night,  on  the  train,  I  saw 
her  white  face,  and  above  her  head  hung  a  cross 
as  red  as  blood. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

OLD  SAM  PRESENTS  A  BUNDLE. 

Once  more  to  breathe  the  broad  air  of  Texas, 
to  feel  the  inspiration  of  her  freedom  and  her 
vastness !  Nurtured  upon  that  land  who  would 
not  willingly  give  his  life  to  maintain  his  coun 
try's  honor?  Ah,  bountiful  domain,  majestic 
spread  of  earth,  how  deep  a  love  hast  thou 
made  thy  sons  and  daughters  feel  for  thee ! 

It  was  early  morning  when  I  arrived  at  Rip- 
lar,  the  end  of  a  journey  through  a  hot  night, 
a  blazing  day,  and  out  of  the  edge  of  another 
darkness;  and  I  walked  about  the  old  town  in 
the  yellow  lights  of  lamps  burning  low,  waiting 
for  sunrise  and  old  Sam  Hall.  And  they  came 
as  if  by  prearrangement,  Sam  walking  down 
the  street  with  the  sun,  from  a  hilltop,  stream 
ing  after  him.  He  took  my  hand  and  looked 
281 


282  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

into  my  eyes,  probed  me,  shook  his  head  with 
satisfaction,  and  said :  "Lucian,  you  are  true — 
you  don't  change."  I  did  not  attempt 
to  tell  him  anything;  he  asked  no  ques 
tions;  he  took  my  arm  and  we  walked 
about  talking  lightly  until  the  town  began  to 
stir,  when  our  conversation  was  intercepted  by 
men  who  halted  to  shake  hands  and  to  bid  me 
welcome.  Old  man  Carson  was  among  the 
number.  He  had  come  in  early,  he  said,  to  buy 
some  turnip  seed.  His  shirt  sleeves  were  still 
rolled  high  upon  his  hairy  arm  and  in  his  old 
eye  a  mischief  shone,  like  the  sudden  gleaming 
of  a  live  coal  in  ashes  long  since  dead.  He 
drew  me  aside  and  asked  if  I  had  brought  his 
niece  back  with  me,  and  giving  me  a  dig  in 
the  side  with  his  thumb,  he  showed  his  yellow 
teeth  and  laughed.  "If  you  ain't  ready  I  reckon 
you  will  be  in  time,"  he  said.  "Didn't  take 
me  long  to  see  how  the  land  lay." 

Was  it  impossible  to  keep  my  heart  concealed 
from  an  eye  so  dull?  "My  sister  wrote  that 
you  were  there  on  important  business,"  he 
went  on,  with  another  laugh.  "But  I  haven't 


PRESENTS  A  BUNDLE.         283 

said  anything  about  it  and  there's  no  harm 
done.  Well,  come  out  and  stay  all  night  with 
me." 

"Sam,"  said  I,  when  the  old  man  had  passed 
on,  "do  I  wear  my  heart  on  my  sleeve?"  . 

"You  carry  it  in  your  hand,  Lucian,  and 
your  hand  is  open." 

At  breakfast  I  spoke  of  the  campaign  and  the 
probable  effect  of  my  temporary  withdrawal 
from  the  fight.  Sam  looked  serious.  "Then  I 
am  as  good  as  defeated,"  said  I,  laughing;  and 
he  replied:  "No,  you  are  as  good  as  elected. 
Everybody  concedes  it." 

"Then  why  did  you  look  so  serious?" 

"Over  a  duty  you  are  compelled  to  perform." 

"It  must  be  of  a  grave  nature." 

"It  may  be,  indeed." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  will  tell  you  when  we  go  to  the  office. 
I  have  a  bundle  for  you." 

"A  bundle?" 

"Yes,  a  present — one  that  you  can  use." 

I  did  not  ask  another  question;  under  his 
watchful  eye  there  was  on  my  part  no  show  of 


284  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

curiosity  and  I  felt  that  applause  was  added  to 
his  deep  friendship  for  me.  We  met  a  number 
of  persons  after  breakfast  and  did  not  go 
straightway  to  the  office.  I  did  not  speak  of  it 
but  Sam  did. 

"There's  time  enough,"  said  he.  "The  train 
does  not  leave  here  till  noon." 

With  the  serious  duty,!  had  to  perform,  the 
bundle  which  could  be  made  useful  and  the 
train  which  did  not  leave  till  noon  he  had  built 
up  a  mystery,  but  I  walked  about  with  him 
and  was  not  impatient.  My  mind  was  on  a 
bridge,  with  three  stone  arches,  looking  up 
toward  a  red  brick  house,  and  the  shrubbery 
in  the  garden  stood  above  the  fence,  and  a 
breeze  just  strong  enough  to  make  a  murmur 
among  the  leaves  of  an  old  hickory  tree,  floated 
a  perfume  from  a  vine  in  the  yard.  That  eye 
of  the  mind,  how  clear!  And  even  when  age 
has  come  it  does  not  need  a  lens  to  magnify, 
for  it  gazes  upon  objects  dear,  and  bright 
with  everlasting  love.  I  could  see  her  father, 
with  his  big  black  books  piled  up  before  him 
upon  a  chair ;  and  now  for  the  first  time  I  could 


PRESENTS   A   BUNDLE.         285 

see  him  laugh  over  the  great  joke  he  had  played 
upon  me.  I  saw  her  walking  dreamily  in  the 
orchard,  as  if  she  were  led  along;  she  shrank 
back,  and  I  saw  a  little  monument  under  the 
apple  tree  and — and  there  was  a  snake  coiled 
about  it,  black,  and  with  evil  glitter  in  its  eye. 

"Read  that,"  said  Sam.  We  were  in  the 
office,  and  he  had  spread  a  newspaper  upon  the 
table;  and  I  read  the  words:  "Lucian  How- 
ardson  may  re-enter  the  race  again  but  it  is 
doubtful.  He  is  at  present  undergoing  treat 
ment  in  a  sanitarium  for  drunkenness." 

"Ah,  and  the  bundle — the  present,"  said  I, 
and  Sam  placed  a  package  before  me.  I  took 
it  up,  unrolled  it;  and  a  horsewhip  fell  upon 
the  table,  a  whip,  black,  like  the  serpent  coiled 
about  the  monument.  "This  paper,  as  you  see," 
said  Sam,  "is  published  in  Doyland,  thirty-five 
miles  from  here — and  a  train  leaves  at  noon." 

We  were  on  the  train,  speeding  across  a 
country  growing  brown  in  the  fierce  heat  of  a 
summer  sun,  and  Sam  was  talking  of  the  man 
who  had  committed  the  offense  against  me.  His 
name  was  Harrison  Redmon,  brother  of  Band- 


286  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

ridge  Redmon,  a  campaign  orator,  a  man  who 
had  killed  two  gamblers  one  night  in  San  An 
tonio.  We  would  give  him  a  good  subject  for 
an  oration,  much  better  than  his  brother's  scan 
dalous  newspaper  had  furnished. 

At  the  door  of  the  editor's  office  I  unwrapped 
my  blacksnake  whip  and  held  it  behind  me.  Sam 
opened  the  door  and  I  followed  him  into  a 
room.  A  man  with  a  wrench  was  tightening 
the  bolts  of  a  job  press  and  he  looked  up  at 
us.  Sam  asked  if  Mr.  Redmon  were  in  and 
the  man  nodded  towards  a  door.  "You'd  better 
come  in  with  us,"  said  Sam.  "He  might  need 
you."  The  man  followed  with  the  wrench 
in  his  hand.  In  another  room  a  large  man, 
with  a  red  face,  sat  behind  a  table.  He  started 
to  get  up,  but  I  commanded  him  not  to  move, 
and  he  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  was  still,  gaz 
ing  at  me. 

"I  suppose  you  know  who  I  am?" 

A  yellow  wave  rolled  across  his  red  face. 

He  said  that  he  knew  me  and  began  to  beg. 

Just  then  Sam  cried,    "Look    out,"    and    the 

wrench    whirred    past    my    head,    and    went 


PRESENTS  A  BUNDLE.         267 

through  a  window ;  and  the  next  moment  there 
was  a  bright  gleam,  a  blow,  and  the  wrench 
flinger  was  on  the  floor,  clubbed  to  sleep  by 
Sam's  pistol.  The  big  man  was  on  his  feet, 
and  I  wrapped  my  whip  about  his  shoulders; 
his  shirt  stuck  to  his  back  and  I  saw  the  red 
oozing  through.  He  snatched  at  a  drawer,  and 
I  knocked  him  down  with  the  butt  end  of  the 
whip. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  trial  before  a 
magistrate,  and  our  enemies  appeared  against 
us,  with  bandages  about  their  heads.  The 
magistrate,  one  of  my  supporters,  imposed  a 
light  fine,  and  as  I  went  out  the  crowd  of 
idlers  pressed  forward  to  shake  hands  with 
me.  Redmon  came  up.  "You  think  you've  got 
out  of  it  pretty  easy,  don't  you?  Well  let  me 
say  you  haven't.  You'll  hear  from  my  brother 
Dandridge." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHAT  HE  CALLED  MY  GRACEFUL  WORK. 

With  so  much  vigor  did  I  re-enter  the  cam 
paign  that  an  old  man,  meeting  me,  declared 
that  he  had  never  known  rest  to  do  a  person 
so  much  good.  Rest!  It  was  her  command 
that  had  made  me  strong. 

In  Texas,  the  horsewhipping  of  a  liar  and  a 
scoundrel  serves  one  as  a  sort  of  moral  re 
juvenation,  as  a  revival  in  the  fall  of  the  year 
serves  to  reinforce  an  old-time  Methodist's  re 
ligion.  The  press  was  full  of  the  affair,  and  it 
was  only  our  most  shameless  enemies  that 
condemned  the  act  as  cowardly.  Old  Sam 
traveled  with  me,  as  proud  a  man  as  ever  I 
have  seen,  not  only  the  manager  of  my  cam 
paign  but  my  protector  as  well.  He  looked 

years  younger,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  music 

288 


MY  GRACEFUL  WORK.          289 

in  his  laugh,  like  the  uncertain  notes  of  an 
accordion  long  since  out  of  use.  And  during 
nearly  a  week  he  had  forgotten  to  refer  to  his 
dead  heart;  but  one  day  he  halted  and  point 
ing  to  a  heap  of  black  ashes  where  trash  had 
been  burnt  in  front  of  a  store,  said  to  me :  "It 
is  just  like  that,  Lucian — dead,  always  black 
and  never  shows  signs  of  growing  brighter." 
But  the  next  moment  he  was  humming  a  tune, 
doubtless  with  his  mind  upon  Dandridge  Red- 
mon.  The  honey  that  Samson  found  in  the 
carcass  of  the  lion  was  not  sweeter  to  that 
mighty  man  than  the  threat  of  danger,  coming 
out  of  our  recent  adventure,  was  to  my  friend. 
But  why  didn't  I  hear  from  the  scoundrel's 
brother  ? 

Haney  met  us  at  the  hotel,  and  in  my  room 
he  talked  blithely  of  our  certain  success.  Sam 
fell  asleep  on  a  lounge.  Haney  went  out  and 
Sam  opened  his  eyes.  "That  fellow  can  put  me 
to  sleep  any  time,"  said  he.  "And  I'll  tell  you 
what,  he  will  dictate  the  distribution  of  your 
political  favors.  I  know  him." 

The  bell  boy  brought  in  a  card,  bearing  the 


290  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

name  of  John  Weatherby ;  and  when  I  read  out 
the  name  old  Sam  smiled  and  said  that  we  now 
were  to  hear  from  Dandridge  Redmon.  And  so 
it  proved.  Weatherby  came  in,  and,  being  a 
"friend,"  shook  hands  with  us  and  then 
straightened  himself  and  pretentiously  pulled  at 
his  mustache;  then  he  bowed  theatrically,  pre 
sented  a  communication  and  coughed  from 
time  to  time  as  I  was  reading  it — a  document 
much  beyond  the  conventional  length,  setting 
forth  grievances  like  a  petition.  But  finally 
the  point  was  reached.  I  was  to  consent  to  be 
shot  at  or  horse-whipped. 

"Mr.  Weatherby,"  said  I,  handing  the  paper 
to  Sam,  "does  your  friend  suppose  that  I  am 
fool  enough  to  disqualify  myself  before  the 
voters  of  this  State?" 

"Ah,  which  means  that  you  won't  fight.  Is 
that  it?" 

"Not  by  a  damned  sight!"  Sam  exclaimed, 
crumpling  the  paper  and  throwing  it  into  the 
fireplace. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Weatherby,  pull 
ing  at  his  mustache  and  bowing  to  Sam,  "but 


MY  GRACEFUL  WORK.          291 

if  you  have  breath  to  spare  you'd  better  expend 
it  in  offering  thanks  that  you  are  not  included 
in  this — this  reprisal." 

"What's  that!"  Sam  cried,  starting  up;  but 
I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "You  may 
manage  the  campaign,  Sam,"  said  I,  "but  you 
must  let  me  manage  this  affair." 

"You  don't  seem  to  put  much  spirit  into 
the  way  you  take  care  of  it,"  said  our  visitor. 

"Perhaps  I  don't  transact  business  to  your 
liking,  but  I  must  be  permitted  to  employ  my 
own  method." 

"Ah,  and  which  means " 

"That  you  may  tell  your  friend  Redmon,  the 
murderer,  to  go  to  the  devil." 

Weatherby  began  to  back  toward  the  door, 
bowing  and  pulling  at  his  mustache,  and  Sam 
cried  out  with  a  laugh :  "Oh,  if  you  were  to 
shave  the  bristles  off  your  lip  you  couldn't 
carry  a  challenge  at  all,  could  you?  But  go 
on  if  you  are  going  and  don't  wear  out  the 
man's  carpet." 

Weatherby  shut  the  door  gently  but  he 
walked  hard  as  he  went  down  the  hall  and  we 


292  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

heard  him  clearing  his  rough  throat  on  the 
stairway. 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  straightening  himself 
upon  the  lounge,  "I  reckon  that  was  ante-bel 
lum  enough.  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Lu- 
cian?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  writing  a  letter." 

"About  this  affair,  I  mean.  But  you  have 
written  to  her  several  times  since  you  came 
home,  haven't  you?" 

"I  have  written  many  times  but  I  have  sent 
only  one  letter." 

"And  you  have  not  heard  from  her." 

"No,  it  is  hardly  time  for  a  letter  to  reach  me, 
as  it  would  have  to  be  forwarded  from  Riplar." 

"I  haven't  asked  you  to  tell  me  anything,  we 
have  been  so  busy,  but  I  wish  now — during  this 
lull  in  our  affairs,"  he  said,  laughing;  "I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  of  your  visit — all  about  it." 

In  recalling  it  all  I  found  a  sort  of  pleasure 
and  I  gave  it  to  him  in  full  detail;  and  when 
I  had  led  him  to  the  grave  beneath  the  apple 
tree,  he  bounded  to  his  feet  and  cried  out: 
"Stop,  Lucian!"  But  the  next  moment  he 


MY  GRACEFUL  WORK.          293 

said:  "Go  on,  please."  And  when  I  had 
reached  the  end,  he  exclaimed  :  "Good  for  that 
big  fellow.  I  want  to  meet  him — and  you  must 
write  and  tell  him  that  I'm  his  friend.  But  as 
I  asked  just  now,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  this  present  emergency?" 
"I  am  going  to  let  it  shape  itself." 
"That's  about  the  best  thing  you  can  do." 
He  lay  down  again  upon  the  lounge  and  as  if 
his  mind  had  been  soothed,  dropped  off  to 
sleep.  And  soon  I  was  lost  in  the  oblivion  of 
a  letter  to  Zaleme.  Sam  was  still  asleep  when 
the  letter  was  done,  and  he  had  lost  so  much 
of  needed  rest  of  late  that  I  went  out  on  tip-toe 
so  as  not  to  disturb  him.  The  clerk  downstairs 
told  me  that  the  mail  had  already  been  taken  to 
the  post-office.  "But  if  you  make  haste,"  said 
he,  "you  can  catch  the  train  at  the  depot  and 
give  your  letter  to  the  postal  clerk  on  the 


car." 


I  followed  his  advice,  posted  the  letter  and 
was  returning  when,  not  far  from  the  tavern, 
a  man  stepped  out  from  a  doorway  and  stood 
in  front  of  me.  Near  by  I  saw  Weatherby — 


294  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

and  then  I  knew  that  I  was  face  to  face  with 
Dandridge  Redmon.  It  was  some  time  before 
he  spoke — he  stood  looking  hard  at  me,  holding 
one  hand  behind  him.  And  then  he  asked : 

"Are  you  armed?" 

"I  am  not." 

Instantly  the  lash  of  a  wagoner's  whip  flew 
high  in  the  air.  I  threw  up  my  hand,  caught 
the  whip  midway  of  the  lash,  jerked  it  out  of 
his  hand,  swung  it  about — and  at  a  moment 
when  he  had  snatched  out  a  pistol,  I  knocked 
him  down,  stamped  upon  his  wrist,  kicked  the 
pistol  into  the  gutter — and  reversing  the  whip, 
I  lashed  him  almost  raw — knocked  him  down 
again  and  again  as  he  attempted  to  get  up — 
lashed  him  till  his  tongue  lolled  out.  And  in 
the  crowd  that  had  gathered  stood  a  man  with 
a  smile  on  his  face,  with  one  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  with  a  finger  of  the  other  hand 
pointing  into  the  face  of  Weatherby — old  Sam. 
He  scolded  me  for  having  sneaked  off  from 
him,  but  he  was  delighted  with  what  he  termed 
my  graceful  work.  "But  where,"  said  he,  "did 


MY  GRACEFUL  WORK.          295 

you  acquire  such  dexterity  ?  How  did  you  man 
age  to  catch  the  lash  of  that  whip?" 

"It  was  purely  an  accident,  Sam.  I  couldn't 
do  it  again  in  a  year." 

"That's  all  right,  but  it  will  pass  for  skill ; 
and,"  he  added  when  we  were  at  the  door  of 
the  tavern,  "it  will  surely  prove  the  end  of  our 
trouble.  They  have  tried  us  with  argument, 
lies  and  brute  force,  and  from  now  on  the 
sailing  will  be  smooth." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS. 

Sam  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room, 
still  elated  over  my  "graceful  work/'  and  I  was 
at  the  window  gazing  into  the  fire-towers  of  a 
cloudy  sunset  when  a  letter  was  brought  to 
me.  It  was  from  Zaleme,  and  Sam  must  have 
seen  the  leap  of  my  heart  for  he  moved  noise 
lessly  across  the  room  and  sat  down,  as  far 
from  me  as  he  could  get.  Ah,  what  a  thrill 
there  can  be  in  the  sight  of  one's  name,  traced 
in  purple  ink !  Long  I  held  the  letter,  unopened, 
with  a  red  glow  from  the  west  falling  upon  it. 
My  mind  flew  back  like  an  eager  bird  and 
hovered  over  the  house,  over  her  as  she  must 
have  sat,  writing  to  me ;  my  soul  was  searching 

for  some  balm  to  stay  its  trembling.    But  cold 
296 


PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS.      297 

at  my  heart  lay  the  fear  that  she  had  repented 
of  her  words  of  encouragement,  that  again  she 
was  under  the  influence  of  that  hypnotizing 
specter.  I  opened  the  letter  and  a  perfume 
arose  and  with  it  a  mist  and  through  the  mist 
I  saw  a  purple  word,  here  and  there,  but  I  had 
to  wait  before  I  could  read.  "What  did  I  tell 
you  when  you  left  me?  I  have  tried  so  hard 
to  recall  the  words  at  our  parting  but  cannot. 
I  know  that  I  told  you  that  when  I  change  at  all 
it  must  be  slowly.  This  morning  when  I  awoke 
I  wondered  if  it  had  not  all  been  a  dream — 
your  visit  here,  and  it  made  me  sad  to  think  so ; 
but  soon  I  realized  it  all  and  then  I  was  sadder 
than  if  it  had  been  but  a  dream,  so  little  do 
I  understand  myself  of  late.  Didn't  I  say  to 
you — 'and  do  you  speak  of  reason !'  Yes  I  did, 
but  I  ought  not  to  have  done  so.  But  my  heart 
did  not  reproach  you,  for  now  as  I  look 
back  it  seems  that  my  heart  was  glad 
dest  when  you  showed  no  reason.  I 
ought  to  scratch  this  out  but  I  will  not.  Rhoda 
was  here  all  day  yesterday.  She  asked  me  if  I 
had  written  to  you  and  appeared  relieved  when 


298  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  told  her  no.  She  was  never  more  affectionate 
and  she  wanted  me  to  go  and  sit  with  her  where 
the  little  grave  is,  but  I  wouldn't.  Then  she 
reproached  me,  but  very  gently,  with  her  tired 
head  on  my  shoulder.  She  asked  me  if  I  had 
forgotten  her  brother  and  I  told  her  no.  She 
said  that  she  had  read  romances  in  vain  trying 
to  find  a  love  as  devoted  as  the  love  he  gave 
to  me.  It  was  surely  a  gift  from  heaven,  she 
said,  and  I  ought  to  cherish  it  always.  And  I 
am  thankful  for  such  a  love.  I  believe  he  died 
with  my  name  on  his  lips  and  with  my  image 
in  his  heart.  I  ought  not  to  write  thus  to  you, 
perhaps,  but  I  must  write  as  I  feel.  I  wish  you 
could  have  known  him,  he  was  so  pure  and — 
I  should  not  say  it,  I  know — but  almost  holy. 
I  don't  believe  that  he  ever  had  an  evil  thought. 
Uncle  Stephen,  who  is  a  shrewd  judge  of  men, 
was  devoted  to  him — was,  yes,  but  the  last 
time  he  was  out  here,  the  day  after  you  left, 
I  think,  he  shocked  me  by  asking  how  long 
I  intended  to  walk  up  and  down  the  lane  with 
'that  fellow's  ghost.'  That  was  so  unlike  my 
uncle.  Is  it  possible  that  you  could  have  em- 


PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS.      299 

bittered  his  mind  against  Calvin,  whom  you  did 
not  know?  No,  I  won't  believe  it,  but  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  Rhoda  hinted  at  something  of 
the  sort.  Day  before  yesterday  I  walked  to 
town,  and  when  half  way  I  heard  some  one 
laughing.  I  looked  up  and  saw  the  culprit,  a 
little  boy,  sitting  on  a  fence.  I  asked  him  why 
he  laughed  and  he  replied  that  it  was  because 
I  was  talking  to  myself.  Had  I  been  talking 
to  your  spirit,  walking  beside  me  ?  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  of  an  awful  dream  I  had  the  other 
night.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  out  in  the  orchard. 
The  sun  was  bright  and  the  air  was  sweet.  I 
had  not  been  thinking  of  the  little  grave,  but 
suddenly  I  found  myself  under  the  tree;  and  I 
was  about  to  ask  pardon  of  the  grave  for  hav 
ing  neglected  it  in  my  thoughts,  when  suddenly 
I  saw  a  snake  coiled  about  the  monument.  Its 
eyes  glittered  and  out  came  its  forked  tongue, 
and  I  ran  to  the  house  badly  frightened.  I  met 
my  father  and  told  him  and  he  went  out  and 
killed  the  snake,  but  its  blood  was  left  on  the 
white  marble  and  could  not  be  washed  off.  And 
the  next  morning  I  was  afraid  to  go  out  in  the 


300  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

orchard — afraid  that  I  might  in  reality  see  the 
snake.  Don't  you  see  how  foolishly  I  am  writ 
ing  to  you  ?  But  how  perfectly  a  woman  gives 
her  confidence  to  a  man  when  she  writes  fool 
ishly  to  him ;  she  is  giving  him  a  part  of  herself. 
If  you  receive  this  letter  you  may  know  that  I 
did  not  read  it  over,  for  I  know  that  if  I  should, 
it  would  not  be  sent,  it  is  so  rambling.  There 
was  a  time  when  I  fancied  that  I  could  write 
a  sensible  letter,  but  this  one  does  not  prove 
it.  Rhoda  says  that  I  am  sometimes  'simple' 
to  keep  from  being  serious.  Do  you  know,  or 
can  you  possibly  suspect,  that  during  all  this 
^time  I  am  striving  to  recall  the  exact  words  I 
spoke  to  you  at  the  moment  of  our  parting? 
But  no  matter,  you  surely  will  not  misunder 
stand  me.  I  am  going  to  be  true  to  myself  for 
then  I  shall  be  true  to  all  others.  I  have  felt 
the  glory  of  being  loved.  But  is  there  not 
a  greater  glory,  the  glory  of  loving?  Is  not 
hunger  for  love  a  selfishness?  In  your  let 
ter  you  ask  me  to  study  my  own  heart.  I 
do,  but  I  find  many  strange  charac 
ters,  like  those  cut  upon  ancient  stone,  a 


PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS.       301 

language  unknown  to  me.  And  now  I  must 
learn  these  strange  characters.  But  where  is 
the  key  to  this  mystic  language  ?  Whither  shall 
I  turn  to  find  it  ?  For  hours  at  a  time  I  have  sat 
striving  to  gather  my  forces,  if  I  have  any — 
seeking  to  become  a  reasoning  creature;  and 
between  me  and  that  which  I  would  seek,  there 
arises  a  cross  and  it  is  red  against  a  gray  wall. 
It  all  comes  back  to  me,  the  late  hour,  the 
lantern,  the  oath,  with  his  burning  hand  clasp 
ing  mine.  His  pale,  eager  face  sends  a  pain  to 
my  heart — and  thus  I  muse  and  my  reason  is 
gone.  Oh,  I  know  that  not  in  this  world  has 
there  been  such  a  love  as  his.  *  *  * 
When  you  write  again  tell  me  about  your  work 
— give  me  the  strong  points  you  make  in  your 
speeches.  A  newspaper  dispatch  says  that  you 
have  carried  the  most  of  the  primary  elections. 
Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this?  It  would  have 
seemed  so  much  better  coming  from  you." 

That  was  all,  and  I  read  it  over  and  over 
again,  to  breathe  the  sweetness  of  a  hope,  here 
and  there ;  and  in  it  there  was  only  hope  while 
my  heart  was  straining  to  catch  the  light  of 


302  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

revelation.  Once  there  was  almost  a  flash,  a 
flame — when  she  spoke  of  the  greater  glory  of 
loving;  and  quickly  I  turned  back,  but  the  sen 
tence  had  lost  its  brightness.  And  then  hope, 
which  at  first  had  been  so  buoyant,  began  slowly 
to  sink.  I  had  drawn  upon  the  words  until  they 
were  sapped  of  their  meaning.  I  turned  about 
and  looked  at  Sam. 

"Bad  news,   Lucian?" 

"No  news  at  all — only  words." 

"But  with  her,  words  may  be  full  of  mean- 
ing." 

"They  must  indeed  when  she  fills  a  grave 
with  them  and  lets  them  hold  her  heart  down 
to  the  earth.  I  wish  I  had  dug  them  up." 

"No,  you  don't  wish  that;  you  are  afraid 
of  them —  you  would  sooner  dig  into  the  tomb 
of  Shakespeare,  gazing  at  the  curse  cut  into  the 
stone." 

"Yes,  Sam,  I  acknowledge  it.  Wouldn't  you 
be  afraid?" 

"Yes.  She  is  a  strange  creature  and  she 
may  be  going  through  a  strange  evolution. 
Don't  disturb  it — wait." 


PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS.      303 

"It  is  impossible.  I  can't  wait." 
He  looked  at  me  with  his  grim,  three-cor 
nered  smile.  "You  remind  me  of  a  man  who 
was  going  to  be  hanged.  When  the  judge  pro 
nounced  sentence  he  swore  that  he  couldn't 
stand  it.  But  he  did." 

There  came  a  rap  at  the  door.  Sam  opened 
it  and  admitted  Hotze.  He  grabbed  my  hand 
and  wrenched  it.  He  swore  that  we  couldn't 
lose  him,  a  fact  with  which  Sam  was  not  slow 
to  agree.  Hotze  was  fresh  from  a  district  which 
had  been  antagonistic  to  me,  but  which  had 
been  completely  won  over  by  good  work  among 
the  "boys."  "And  say,"  he  went  on,  "I  arrived 
just  in  time  to  hear  the  whole  town  laugh  over 
your  horse-whipping  of  that  fellow.  Do  you 
know  he  would  have  shot  me  once  if  I'd  let 
him?  It's  a  fact.  What  did  I  do?  I  kept  out 
of  his  way,  of  course.  I  don't  want  to  kill  a 
man  even  to  keep  him  from  killing  me;  and 
when  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  keep  out 
of  a  fellow's  way.  That's  all.  Yes,  sir,  the 
whole  town  is  laughing,  and  they  have  to  sweep 
people  out  of  the  office  down  stairs — want  to 


304  IN   THE  ALAMO. 

come  up  here  to  see  you.  But  that's  right — let 
'em  stay  out.  We  don't  want  to  be  too  familiar. 
By  the  way,  Hall,  I  have  found  out  what  made 
you  laugh  so  when  I  spoke  of  St.  George  and 
the  dragoon.  I  ought  to  have  said  dragon. 
But  if  you  let  a  little  thing  like  that  tickle  you, 
why  you'll  laugh  yourself  to  death  if  you  run 
with  me.  Well,  Howardson,  there's  no  if  or  and 
about  it,  we  are  going  to  get  there.  I  was  never 
as  sure  of  anything  in  my  life.  It  would  take 
a  mighty  bad  break  to  beat  us  now.  Recollect 
that  fellow  Briggs,  of  San  Antonio — fellow 
that  come  up  to  tell  you  that  he  was  your  open 
faced  enemy?  Well,  he's  shouting  for  you 
now.  Oh,  the  thing's  cut  and  dried.  And 
Hall,  I  am  free  to  say  that  a  good  deal  of  the 
credit  is  due  to  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Sam,  warming  toward 
him.  "Yes,"  he  added,  "I  think  we  are  all 
right;  and  we  are  going  to  remember  our 
friends." 

"The  only  way  to  do,  Hall.  Statesmanship's 
all  right,  you  understand,  but  the  statesman 


PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS.      305 

has  got  to  burn  patronage  in  his  fire  box,  so 
to  speak,  or  his  steam  will  go  down/' 

And  Old  Sam  agreed  with  him.  Surely  my 
friend  was  growing  more  tolerant.  There  had 
been  a  time  when  such  a  statement  would  have 
stung  him.  Had  this  oil-oozing  politician  won 
him  with  a  word  of  commendation?  Was  his 
heart  so  set  on  my  success  that  praise  for  his 
services  to  me  had  melted  his  resentment  and 
his  prejudices?  Ah,  being  a  true  friend  how 
rare  he  was.  How  old-fashioned,  how  romantic 
is  unselfish  friendship!  How  strongly  does  it 
draw  upon  today's  cold  and  materialistic  in 
credulity  !  Was  the  past  less  wise  and  therefore 
nobler  than  the  present  ?  Man  was  never  more 
heroic  than  he  is  today,  never  more  willing 
to  shed  his  blood ;  but  being  shrewder,  a  closer 
questioner  of  self,  a  keener  inquirer  into  the 
motives  of  other  men,  he  is  not  so  disinterested 
a  friend.  Thus  I  mused  as  I  looked  at  Sam, 
who  surely  was  not  a  man  of  today.  Nature 
and  years  of  sorrow  had  stamped  him  the 
enemy  of  such  a  man  as  Hotze,  but  now  he  was 
so  wrapped  up  in  my  affairs,  so  grateful  for  an 


20 


3o6  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

acknowledgment  that  something  was  due  to 
his  foresight  and  his  skill  as  a  manager,  that 
he  was  willing  to  trample  upon  nature.  Hotze 
went  out  and  I  said  to  Sam :  "You  have  over 
looked  your  antipathy  to  that  fellow,  and  all 
because " 

"Of  vanity,"  he  quietly  interposed.  "He 
flattered  me  and  I  was  too  weak  to  resist." 

"Are  we  all  so  weak  as  that?"> 

"Yes.  There  is  only  one  man  who  is  strong 
toward  the  world,  the  man  in  love,  and  he  has 
been  robbed  of  his  reason.  But,  Lucian,  I  doubt 
the  existence  of — love  as  men  know  it.  It  is 
not  love,  it  is  disease,  poison.  I  believe  that 
it  becomes  not  only  a  mental  but  a  physical  ail 
ment.  But  we  won't  talk  about  it,  for  of  neces 
sity  we  must  thresh  the  same  old  straw.  God, 
I  wish  it  were  all  threshed  so  fine  it  would  blow 
away." 

Late  at  night  he  came  to  my  room  to  deliver 
a  telegram ;  and  he  found  me  standing  beneath 
the  gas  lamp,  reading  my  letter.  And  when 
he  came  in  early  the  next  morning  he  caught 
up  the  telegram  from  the  table  and  cried  out : 


PUZZLING  OVER  WORDS.      307 

"What,  haven't  you  opened  this  yet?"  I  had 
not;  during  all  the  night  my  mind  had  been 
searching  for  rest-spots  in  her  letter.  He  tore 
open  the  dispatch,  glanced  at  it  and  announced 
that  we  had  carried  another  primary  election. 
"It  was  one  that  had  been  in  doubt,  too,  Lu- 


cian." 


"Yes  ?  That  is  something  to  be  thankful  for. 
Wait  a  moment.  What  would  your  heart  tell 
you  that  this  sentence  means?" 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  old  smile,  and 
remarked :  "A  dead  heart  cannot  interpret." 

"But  your  experience  is  not  dead.  Let  me 
have  its  judgment." 

I  read  the  sentence  to  him  and  he  shook  his 
head.  "I  don't  know.  It  might  mean  anything 
and  it  might  mean  nothing.  Heart  might  give 
to  it  a  direct  meaning,  but  experience  says  it 
does  not  know." 

"Sam,  I  am  going  to  San  Antonio  today — I 
am  going  to  see  if  that  cross  is  red  upon  the 
wall." 

"Lucian,  honestly  you  are  not  well.  You 
have  gone  through  too  much  of  late.  You  are 


308  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

unstrung.     Go  with  me  to  Riplar  and  let  us 
try  to  rest.     Won't  you?" 

"No,  I  am  going  first  to  the  Alamo,  to  see  if 
that  cross  is  red  upon  the  wall." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

GAZING  INTO  THE  OLD  CORNER. 

I  arrived  in  San  Antonio  late  at  night.  There 
were  but  few  persons  in  the  lobby  of  the  hotel. 
Two  of  them  came  forward,  shook  hands  with 
me  and  then  kindly  permitted  me  to  go  to  my 
room.  I  arose  early  the  next  morning  and  sat 
at  the  window,  waiting  for  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun  to  fall  upon  the  Alamo.  But  when  the 
first  rays  came  they  fell  upon  a  letter  which  I 
held  low  upon  the  window  sill.  I  was  still 
striving  to  extract  a  balm  with  which  to  anoint 
a  suffering  heart.  Old  Sam  had  spoken  the 
truth.  I  was  not  well.  I  had  begun  to  lose 
faith  in  Zaleme.  She  did  not  know  her  own 
mind,  and  this  argued  a  weakness  of  character. 
Or  was  it  strength  instead  of  weakness?  I 
put  the  letter  into  my  pocket  and  sat  gazing 

at  the  Alamo,  now  bathed  in  light.    When  first 
309 


310  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  had  looked  from  that  window,  my  fancy  had 
"vitoscoped"  the  battle;  I  saw  the  heroes 
fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the  Mexicans  that 
climbed  upon  the  walls.  The  Mexicans  fell 
until  the  ground  was  covered  with  them,  but 
others  advanced  out  of  Santa  Anna's  horde 
till  the  heroes  were  crushed.  I  heard  the  blood 
— drip,  drip.  But  now  I  could  see  nothing  but 
the  old  walls,  gray  in  the  sun.  Was  my  fancy 
dead?  And  then  I  started,  for  on  the  wall 
appeared  a  red  cross.  I  got  up,  walked  about 
the  room,  tried  to  read  a  newspaper,  read  my 
letter,  looked  again  at  the  old  wall,  to  find  that 
it  was  gray  with  no  sign  of  red.  Some  one 
knocked.  I  opened  the  door  and  Quailes  seized 
my  hand.  He  started  back  and  asked  me  if  I 
were  ill. 

"No,  hard  work,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  your  work  is  about  over  and  you'll 
soon  be  all  right.  Well,  sir,  I  am  devilish  glad 
to  see  you,"  said  he,  sitting  down.  "And  you 
don't  know  how  much  good  it  does  me  every 
time  I  see  that  we  have  carried  a  primary.  And 
we've  got  enough  to  make  a  dead  sure  thing 


THE  OLD  CORNER.  311 

in  the  legislature.  But  you  don't  seem  as  keen 
for  the  office  as  you  were.  By  the  way  I  met 
the  Doctor  some  time  ago  and  he  told  me  that 
you  had  been  to  his  father's  home  in  Kentucky." 

"Yes,  I  had  business  up " 

"You  bet  you  did.  I  knew  that  the  first  day 
you  met  her  in  the  Alamo.  It's  all  right — 
I  won't  say  anything  about  it.  But  say,  how 
do  you  stand?  That's  all  right.  Of  course 
you'll  win  there  just  as  you  will  in  the  legis 
lature.  Well,  sir,  as  soon  as  I  introduced  you 
to  her  I  said  to  myself :  'As  little  as  you  think 
of  it  you  may  be  talking  to  fate  right  now.'  I 
saw  you  were  hit  hard,  Senator." 

"But  did  you  see  that  she  was  hit  hard  ?  Tell 
me,  did  you  see  that?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  to  that.  Women 
govern  themselves  better  than  men,  and  you 
can't  always  tell  how  hard  they  are  hit.  I 
don't  believe  they  are  as  quick  as  men.  But  if 
you  want  her  she's  yours— that's  all  there  is  to 
it.  Why,  look  what  a  fight  I've  had — even 
after  all  hands  acknowledged  that  she  stood 
there  gazing  into  the  eye  of  fate.  I  thought 


3i2  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

your  letter  had  fixed  it  all  right,  and  it  would 
with  a  woman  of  reason,  but  my  girl's  mother 
is  not  in  the  habit  of  reasoning.  She  is  swayed 
by  prejudice  alone.  Shortly  after  you  left  here 
some  one  told  her  that  I  had  been  drunk.  I 
went  to  her.  I  saw  that  she  was  mad  because 
I  denied  it  and  then  I  acknowledged  it.  Then 
you  ought  to  have  seen  her.  She  ordered  me 
out  of  the  house.  I  said  to  her,  'Madam,'  said 
I,  'you  have  been  misinformed.  I  acknowl 
edged  a  falsehood  just  to  please  you — I  thought 
you  would  compliment  me  for  self-abnegation. 
But  I  want  to  tell  you  right  now  that  I  was 
not  drunk.'  But  she  insisted  on  my  going  and 
I  went;  but  I  didn't  let  it  drop.  I  sent  her 
credentials — depositions  of  the  mayor,  chief  of 
police,  city  physician,  city  clerk — all  of  them, 
and  it  had  effect." 

"It  is  a  good  thing  they  happened  to  know, 
Quailes." 

He  winked.  "Or  at  least  it  is  a  good  thing 
they  happened  to  be  candidates  for  re-election. 
Yes,  sir,  the  old  woman  forgave  me  with  most 
Christian-like  gentleness,  but  she  didn't  want 


THE  OLD  CORNER.  313 

me  to  marry  her  daughter.  Now  what  the 
deuce  did  I  want  with  her  forgiveness  unless 
she  gave  me  the  girl  ?  Why,  I  wouldn't  give 
her  ten  cents  for  all  the  forgiveness  she  could 
scrape  up  in  a  year.  Well,  what  did  I  do?  I 
went  over  the  files  of  the  paper  and  got  figures 
showing  from  the  primaries  the  number  of 
votes  you  would  have  on  joint  ballot  and  I 
sent  them  to  her  together  with  a  letter  reading 
something  after  this  fashion :  'You  have  in 
your  possession  a  letter  concerning  the  integrity 
of  my  character.  It  was  written  by  a  man  which 
the  enclosed  figures  will  inform  you  will  be 
elected  to  the  U.  S.  Senate  at  the  forthcoming 
session  of  the  legislature.  Who  knows  but  that 
I  may  be  called  upon  to  serve  this  Senator  as 
private  secretary?  And  who  knows  but  that 
a  certain  lady  might  wish  to  visit  her  daughter 
in  Washington,  where  she  might  be  introduced 
into  society  by  a  Senator  ?'  What  did  she  do  ? 
What  could  she  do  ?  The  mails  were  too  slow. 
She  telegraphed.  And  so  it  is  all  settled  again. 
But  let  us  say  a  word  about  that  private  sec 
retary  business.  That's  a  job  I  don't  want.  I'm 


314  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

a  newspaper  man.  And  as  I  intimated  to  you 
on  a  former  occasion  I  am  the  best  in  the 
State.  By  the  way,  I  met  Dandridge  Redmon 
last  night.  He  was  in  a  gambling  house  where 
he  had  killed  two  men  not  a  great  while  ago. 
He  strutted  about  as  if  he  thought  every  one 
was  afraid  of  him.  He  said  that  he  would  meet 
you  again  one  of  these  days  and  wouldn't  hit 
you  with  a  whip,  either.  And  then  I  went  up  to 
him.  You  may  not  know  it,  not  having  seen 
me  tried,  but  I  am  about  as  game  as  they 
make  'em.  And  why  not?  Haven't  I  got  a 
right  to  be,  and  doesn't  it  stand  me  in  hand? 
I  walked  up  to  him  and  said :  'You  big  brute, 
you  had  a  pistol  the  last  time  you  met  him. 
Why  didn't  you  use  it?'  'Who  are  you?'  he 
asked  and  I  gave  him  my  card.  He  looked 
at  it  and  tried  to  smile.  He  had  heard  of  me. 
He  knew  I  was  a  game  cock  and  would  stay  in 
the  pit.  He  slunk  out.  And  you  bet  he'll 
never  molest  you.  He  was  glad  enough  the 
other  day  to  get  off  with  his  life.  Do  you  want 
me  to  interview  you  or  have  you  had  enough  ?" 
"I  would  like  to  rest,"  I  answered.  "I  don't 


THE  OLD  CORNER.  3*5 

want  to  see  any  one — don't  want  any  one  to 
know  I'm  in  town — and  keep  that  recent  con 
vert,  Briggs,  away  if  you  can." 

"All  right,  I'll  fix  him.  He  owes  the  hotel 
a  bill,  and  I'll  tell  him  they  want  the  money. 
He  won't  come  round."  Quailes  sat  looking 
at  me  and  after  a  time  he  remarked :  "You  are 
going  to  make  a  record  in  the  Senate." 

"No,  I  think  not,  Quailes.  Since  the  fire 
of  my  yearning  has  paled,  I  see  that  I  am  more 
of  a  sentimentalist  than  a  political  enonomist 
or  a  statesman.  I  have  read  great  books  as  a 
duty  and  lesser  ones  as  a  delight." 

"That  reminds  me  of  an  objection  a  fellow 
offered  concerning  you  the  other  day.  He 
called  you  a  poet.  I  told  him  you  were  my 
friend  and  that  I  didn't  want  to  hear  anything 
like  that  from  him.  Poetry,  why  hang  their 
hides  on  a  fence,  to  me  a  mind  that  has  no 
poetry  in  it  is  as  barren  as  a  wind-swept  prairie. 
But  the  average  voter  thinks  poetry  means 
effeminacy.  He  thinks  that  verses  belong  to 
women  when  the  fact  is  that  a  true  poet  is  the 
bravest  man  alive;  he  is  ready  to  give  his  life 


Si6  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

for  his  belief.  But  you  did  publish  a  volume 
of  verses  didn't  you,  Lucian?" 

"Yes,  for  private  circulation.  And  I  have 
grieved  over  the  fact,  when  the  politician  was 
strongest  within  me,  but  since  those  grim  old 
walls  out  there  have  arisen  in  my  dreams " 

"You  mean  since  you  met  Zaleme  Acklin?" 

"Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  I  do  mean.  Since 
I  have  known  her,  my  verses  have  ceased  to 
be  so  contemptible  in  my  sight.  I  don't  say 
that  I  have  written  poetry  of " 

"No,  and  don't  say  it  where  the  politicians 
are  likely  to  get  hold  of  it.  I  tried  to  pick  up 
a  copy  but  couldn't — had  to  go  about  it  in  a 
quiet  way,  you  know.  You  got  any  on  hand  ?" 

"I  sent  the  last  copy  to  Zaleme  but  a  few 
days  ago;  and  I  haven't  heard  yet  what  she 
thinks  of  it.  I  shall  be  either  lifted  or  lowered 
in  her  opinion;  it  was  a  risk  to  run,  but  I  was 
bold — one  of  your  brave  poets.  Here  and 
there  the  worst  writer  of  verses  may  reveal 
himself,  and  when  he  does  he  is  for  one 
moment  if  for  no  more  a  true  poet,  one  of 
God's  children,  crying  to  the  Father." 


THE  OLD  CORNER.  317 

"You  are  right,  Lucian;  you  are  not  so 
much  of  a  politician.  But  come  on  and  let's  go 
to  breakfast." 

When  we  had  eaten  breakfast  he  left  me; 
he  knew  that  I  wanted  to  go  alone  to  the 
Alamo.  And  I  stood  in  the  room  where  Bowie's 
blood  had  laid  the  dust.  Visitors  had  begun  to 
arrive,  and  some  of  them  were  about  me;  I 
heard  the  low  hum  of  their  talk,  but  I  did  not 
turn  to  look  at  them.  I  was  gazing  into  the 
corner,  at  the  wall  whereon  the  cross  had  been 
drawn,  but  there  was  no  stain  of  red.  I  knew 
that  it  could  not  be  there,  that  imagination's 
finger  must  trace  it  upon  the  mind.  But  ah, 
this  imagination,  when  the  nerves  are  taut  and 
tingling  and  the  mind  is  almost  diseased !  How 
much  worse  than  reality,  for  we  accept  the  real 
and  cease  to  speculate.  Out  of  the  hum  behind 
me — into  my  startled  ears  came  leaping  the 
words — "The  Red  Cross."  I  wheeled  about, 
almost  treading  upon  the  foot  of  an  old  gentle 
man.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I,  bowing  to 
him.  "But  didn't  I  hear  you  speak  of  a  red 
cross?" 


3i8  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Not  of  a  red  cross — no,  sir;  tjut  of  the  so 
ciety  of  The  Red  Cross,  as  a  member  of  which 
I  have  served  on  the  battlefield." 

I  apologized  to  him  and  went  out  into  the 
chapel,  down  to  the  window  beneath  which 
Zaleme  and  I  had  stood,  listening  to  the  lisping 
wind.  It  was  here  that  she  had  said  she  would 
demand  a  love  so  desperate  that  he  would  kill 
himself  if  he  believed  that  she  did  not  love  him. 
But  in  this  letter — and  the  soft  light  fell  upon 
it — she  had  written  of  the  greater  glory  of 
loving.  I  felt  that  I  was  being  studied  and 
commented  upon,  and  looking  up  I  saw  two 
men  gazing  at  me,  and  my  acute  ear  had  caught 
what  one  of  them  was  saying:  "He's  got  the 
figures  of  the  campaign  right  there  in  his  hand." 
Yes,  figures  of  speech  in  the  heart's  campaign ! 
As  I  was  going  out  I  glanced  into  Bowie's 
room,  and  there  in  a  glimpse  was  the  red  cross. 
I  hastened  into  the  room,  stood  in  the  corner, 
passed  my  hand  over  the  wall,  gazed  closer — 
and  there  was  a  dim  spot  of  red,  the  fading 
blood  of  a  hero. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD. 

Turn  whither  I  might  there  was  no  rest  to  be 
found.  Ambition,  the  great  nerve  tonic,  was 
dead.  But  would  it  not  rise  again,  if  the  heart 
should  find  ease  in  the  possession  of  the  object 
which  had  caused  its  distress?  No  matter,  it 
was  dead  now,  and  to  muse  upon  its  probable 
resurrection  in  the  future  could  offer  no  relief 
to  present  weariness.  If  a  man  could  forget 
his  mind — his  heart!  If  he  could  take  off  his 
head  after  the  manner  of  the  dancing  skeleton, 
scour  it  of  unwholesome  thoughts  and  tanta 
lizing  fancies — throw  it  from  him  and  lie  down 
to  refreshing  sleep, — and  if  upon  awaking  he 
could  take  it  up  and  readjust  it,  how  much  fitter 
would  he  be  for  the  tedious  affairs  of  this  life ! 

I  permitted  even  such  nonsense  as  this  to  seep 
319 


320  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

through  my  mind,  so  foolishly  speculative  can 
a  man  become  when  under  a  weight  that  is 
bearing  him  down  to  the  ground.  I  could 
find  no  rest  and  no  affinity  except  with 
Old  Sam,  so  I  returned  to  Riplar.  He 
was  asleep  in  the  office  when  I  arrived,  and 
he  sat  up,  his  grayish  hair  bristling,  and  he 
said  that  he  had  been  dreaming.  He  hung  his 
head  low  and  sat  rubbing  his  eyes  as  I  often 
found  myself  doing,  trying  forgetfully  to  wipe 
out  a  vision ;  and  after  a  time  he  remarked : 
"Lucian,  I  was  dreaming  of  Lucy  Hedges." 
Years  had  passed  since  I  heard  him  utter  the 
name  of  the  woman  who  had  blighted  his  life. 
"She  is  in  town,"  he  added. 

"What,  you  don't  mean  it !" 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  joking  about  her, 
Lucian.  Yes,  she  is  here  and  I  have  seen 
her.  Her  husband  is  dead  and  she  has  come 
back,  so  I  understand,  to  live  with  her  mother. 
I  met  her  in  the  road  near  old  Carson's  house — 
her  mother,  you  know,  lives  just  beyond — and 
for  a  moment  I  thought  I  saw  a  ghost,  but  she 
smiled  and  spoke  to  me.  My — my  blood  urged 


MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD.       321 

me  to  cry  out,  'Out  with  your  grinning!'  but 
I  merely  bowed  to  her  and  passed  on.  And 
just  now  I  dreamed  that  I  met  her  again,  and 
this  time  I  did  not  merely  bow  and  pass  on. 
I  raised  my  hand  above  her  head  and  denounced 
her,  and  I  saw  her  kneel  upon  the  ground ;  and 
Lucian,  if  I  meet  her  again  I  will  denounce  her 
— as  a  murderess." 

"No,  Sam,  I  wouldn't  do  that." 

Then  came  his  sharp  smile.  "Oh,  no,  you 
wouldn't — you  would  simply  cut  her  throat. 
That's  what  you  would  do,  and  before  God 
it  is  what  I  ought  to  do."  He  arose  and 
walked  about  the  room.  "I  understand,"  he 
went  on,  "that  she  expects  to  live  here  per 
manently,  and  if  that  is  the  case  I  shall  have 
to  leave.  I  have  already  spoken  to  a  man  with 
regard  to  the  sale  of  my  effects.  Don't  advise 
me,  Lucian;  I  can't  live  here." 

I  knew  that  his  mind  was  set  and  I  did  not 
advise  him.  I  agreed  with  him. 

"Where  do  you  expect  to  go,  Sam?" 

"Mexico — in    the    mountains,    as    high    up 

above  her  as  I  can  get.    But  I  want  to  see  her 
21 


322  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

one  more  time — for  a  few  moments.  I  want 
to  show  her  that  even  though  she  killed  my 
heart  my  mind  is  still  alive — and  I  am  going 
to  pronounce  upon  her  the  worst  curse  that 
ever  came  from  the  lips  of  man.  The  curse  of 
excommunication,  in  the  dark  ages,  would  look 
pale  beside  it."  He  walked  up  and  down,  mut 
tering  to  himself,  making  motions  as  if  dealing 
a  death  blow  with  a  knife.  After  a  while  he 
grew  calmer  and  then  he  said:  "I  expected 
you  home  and  I  told  them  not  to  forward  your 
mail.  In  your  desk  you  will  find  a  letter  from 
Kentucky." 

And  now  I  forgot  his  troubles  and  the 
woman  who  had  trampled  his  heart  under  her 
feet.  I  snatched  out  the  letter — and  the  first 
reading  eased  my  heart  a  little,  but  doubt  arose 
with  the  second  reading'  and  increased  with 
the  third.  "You  did  not  tell  me  that  you 
had  written  a  book  of  poems,"  she  said.  "Were 
you  ashamed  of  your  earlier  fancies?  You 
should  not  have  been.  But  the  little  book  has 
fastened  a  fib  upon  you.  When  we  came  to  the 
flowery  bank  in  the  woods  near  Uncle  Car- 


MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD.       323 

son's  house,  you  burst  out  in  blank  verse ;  and 
you  told  me  that  it  was  from  one  of  the  oldest 
dramatists,  but  I  find  the  poem  in  this  volume. 
If  you  are  ashamed  to  own  your  own  verses 
you  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  recite  them.  But 
I  should  not  say  this.  Why  do  I  so  persist 
ently  overlook  the  fact  that  you  are  a  man  with 
a  reputation  and  are  dignified — at  times !  Don't 
misunderstand  me,  please.  You  are  a  true  poet, 
in  my  opinion,  and  your  book  has  given  me  a 
rainbow  glimpse  of  your  soul." 

Now  what  did  she  mean  by  that?  A  rain 
bow  glimpse!  A  glimpse  of  promise?  Then 
why  didn't  she  say  so?  In  her  opinion  I  was 
a  true  poet.  Did  she  mean  that  others  might 
think  ill  of  my  muse — others  more  capable  of 
judging — but  that  she  would  ignore  all  pro 
tests  against  me? 

The  letter  continued:  "Did  you  say  any 
thing  to  hurt  Rhoda's  feelings  ?  She  intimated 
as  much,  but  I  can't  believe  you  did.  And  now 
I  must  confess  something.  She  is  beginning 
to  wear  upon  me,  to  weary  me.  Oh,  she  is  so 
painfully  sensitive.  Sometimes  she  sheds  tears 


324  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

at  the  tenderest  word.  She  makes  too  free 
a  gift  of  her  tears.  Somehow  I  can't  help  but 
suspect  them.  She  wants  me  to  do  something 
that  would  involve  the  sale  of  my  farm.  I 
wonder  if  she  is  really  disinterested? 
You  have  made  an  everlasting  friend  of 
Uncle  Stephen.  You  remember  mother's 
wild  grape  wine?  She  declared  that  he 
shouldn't  have  any  more,  but  he  came  out 
last  Sunday  and  drank  it  all.  And  then  he  said 
to  me  that  he  had  told  you  something  and  that 
you  are  at  liberty  to  tell  me.  It  must  be  some 
thing  about  Calvin  White.  What  was  it?  But 
it  could  be  nothing  bad,  for  he  walked  the  earth 
a  god  among  men.  Rhoda  is  constantly  afraid 
that  I  may  do  his  memory  an  injustice,  as  if 
such  a  thing  on  my  part  were  possible  *  *  * 
It  seems  so  long  since  you  were  here;  and  I 
could  reproach  myself  for  having  told  you  to 
go,  but  it  had  to  be ;  you  had  too  long  suffered 
the  withdrawal  of  your  energies  from  the  field 
of  contest  for  a  great  prize.  It  was  and  is 
my  earnest  wish  that  you  should  win.  If  you 
fail,  and  especially  should  you  fail  through  any 


MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD.       325 

lack  of  effort  on  your  part,  it  will  be  a  deep 
grief  to  me.  You  told  me  that  it  had  long  been 
the  ambition  of  your  life,  therefore,  it  was  not 
just  to  your  future  that  you  should  relax.  Jan 
uary  is  not  a  great  way  off,  and  then  you  will 
step  forth  a  victor.  Mother  does  not  feel  dis 
posed  to  visit  Texas  again  so  soon,  traveling  is 
so  tiresome  to  her,  but  I  am  coming." 

I  put  the  letter  into  my  pocket  and  a  few 
moments  later  when  I  was  taking  it  out,  Old 
Sam  remarked :  "Lucian,  I  was  just  thinking 
that  not  on  the  face  of  the  earth  are  there  two 
completer  fools  than  we  are.  And  worst  of  all, 
I  am  a  revengeful  fool."  He  came  over  to 
where  I  sat,  and  b£gan  to  make  gestures  at  me 
with  his  long  finger,  like  a  man  "pop"  shooting 
with  a  pistol.  "Yes,  I  am  revengeful  and  it 
does  something  within  me — surely  not  a  heart 
— but  it  does  me  good  somewhere  when  I  think 
of  the  curse  I  am  going  to  pronounce  upon  that 
woman.  I  would  do  it,  Lucian,  if  I  were  dying 
and  knew  that  my  soul  would  be  sent  to  the 
most  sulphurous  pit  in  hell.  I  swear  that  I 
could  walk  with  bare  feet  in  her  blood  and 


326  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

never  flinch.  Isn't  that  brutish?  But  I  could 
do  it.  Look  at  the  years  that  have  been  dead 
years  to  me!  And  do  you  think  that  I  am 
going  to  smirk  and  forgive  her?  I  ought  to 
cut  her  throat.  Oh,  that's  exactly  what  I  ought 
to  do — and  when  I  meet  her  again  I'll  have  no 
knife  about  me.  But  look  how  strong  these 
ringers  are.  See  this !"  He  set  his  teeth  and 
went  through  violent  motions,  as  if  strangling 
her.  "Couldn't  I  choke  her  to  death  in  a  min 
ute  ?  She  couldn't  cry  out,  but  she  could  gurgle 
and  that  would  make  me  laugh." 

"Don't,  Sam — you  must  not  talk  that  way." 

"Oh,  it's  easy  to  say  that.  But  wait  till  you 
have  suffered  as  much  as  I  have.  And  you 
may,  old  fellow;  it's  in  the  cards — you  may." 

"I  know  it,  Sam,  and  not  for  a  moment  do 
I  lose  sight  of  the  fact.  Surely  she  does  not 
know  her  own  mind.  Then  how  can  I  find  rest 
in  the  study  of  her  heart?  I  believe,  however, 
that  she  is  ambitious;  my  election  will  have 
weight." 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  think  so,"  said  Sam. 

"And  I  shudder  to  feel  it  so,  but  all  the 


MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD.       327 

same  I  am  afraid  it  is  true.  And  I  am  going 
to  win,  Sam." 

"I  know  it.  And  I  wish  I  could  stay  to  wit 
ness  your  triumph,  but  I  can't." 

"When  do  you  expect  to  start  for  Mexico  ?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  arrangements  can  possibly 
be  made.  But  the  most  important  thing  to  me 
is  seeing  her  again.  Now  don't  you  be  afraid — 
I  am  not  going  to  murder  her." 

At  another  time — a  time  before  I  had  met 
Zaleme — I  could  not  have  restrained  a  lament 
over  his  departure;  we  had  been  associated  so 
long  and  were  such  close  friends,  but  now  I 
could  not  fasten  my  mind  upon  him  or  his 
trouble,  and  surely  I  could  calmly  have  viewed 
a  great  calamity,  out  of  failure  to  grasp  its 
meaning.  My  nature  had  been  changed. 

During  all  that  day  I  puzzled  over  my  letter, 
though  surely  it  was  plain  enough,  or  would 
have  been  to  an  unclouded  eye ;  and  more  than 
once  during  the  night  did  I  get  up  to  search 
for  secreted  meanings  among  those  purple 
words. 

Sam  was  not  at  breakfast  when  I  went  down 


328  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

stairs  the  next  morning;  and  I  waited  a  long 
time  at  the  office,  wishing  that  he  would  come, 
but  he  did  not,  and  I  walked  forth,  aimlessly 
at  first ;  and  then  turned  toward  Carson's  house. 
But  not  desiring  to  meet  the  old  man,  so  full  of 
indelicate  gibes  he  surely  would  be,  I  turned 
off  into  the  woods,  going  straightway  to  the 
bank  whereon  Zaleme  and  I  had  sat.  The 
bank  was  brown,  the  heat  had  killed  the 
flowers ;  and  I  passed  on,  looking  for  a  shadier 
place  where  I  might  sit  down  to  worry  again 
over  my  letter.  Near  the  roadside  was  a 
branching  oak  and  beneath  it,  in  a  corner  of  the 
rail  fence,  the  grass  was  green  and  inviting. 
I  sat  down  and  my  mind  flew  away  to  an  old 
stone  bridge  and  a  garden  where  the  shrubbery 
stood  high  above  the  wall.  Suddenly  I  started ; 
a  voice  had  aroused  me — Sam's  voice.  And 
looking  through  the  fence  I  saw  him  standing 
only  a  few  feet  distant  from  me,  and  near  him 
stood  a  woman  gazing  into  his  eyes.  I  ought 
to  have  come  out  of  my  hiding  place,  but  I  was 
fascinated  by  the  scene  and  did  not  move. 
"Madam,  I  wanted  to  see  you  once  more," 


MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD.       329 

said  Sam.  His  hat  was  off,  his  hair  looked 
white  and  his  face  was  paler  than  I  ever  had 
seen  it. 

"Yes,"  she  quietly  replied,  looking  at  him. 
The  years  had  been  gentle  with  her,  though 
poverty  had  left  its  mark,  for  she  was  poorly 
attired,  but  she  looked  strong,  and  stood  as  if 
gracefully  she  had  stepped  out  of  the  past. 

"Madam,  you  have  come  back  here  to  live, 
and  I  am  going  to  Mexico." 

"Are  you  going  so  far,  Sam?" 

He  started  and  I  did,  too,  for  I  saw  that  she 
was  suffering. 

"Yes,  the  further  from  you  the  better.  But 
I  was  determined  to  see  you  again,  and  I  went 
to  your  mother's  house  this  morning  to  look  for 
you,  and  when  I  learned  that  you  had  come 
this  way  I  was  glad,  for  I  wanted  to  see  you 
alone.  Do  you  know  why?" 

"To  reproach  me." 

"Oh,  you  draw  it  mild.  No,  not  to  reproach 
you.  Reproach  is  gentle  compared  with  what 
I  am  going  to  say.  Madam,  I  am  going  to 


330  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

curse  you  as  a  woman  was  never  cursed  before. 
Now  listen  to  me." 

"Yes,  Sam,"  she  said,  wiping  her  eyes,  "yes, 
but  first  of  all  let  me  say  something  and  then 
I  will  listen  to  your  curse.  You  know  I  was 
very  young  and  I  heeded  the  advice  of  older 
ones.  My  father  and  mother  begged  and 
threatened  me — father  swore  that  he  would 
take  your  life.  They  thought  that  man  had 
money.  Poverty  had  been  the  curse  of  their 
lives.  My  oldest  sister  was  far  away  from 
home,  and  starved  to  death,  they  said.  And 
they  would  save  me — they  had  forgotten  that 
there  was  love  in  the  world — they  wanted  me 
to  be  rich.  And  at  last  I  yielded.  But  as  God 
is  my  judge,  through  all  these  years  you  and 
you  alone  have  been  in  my  heart.  Once  in  the 
night  he  heard  me  praying  for  you,  and  he  beat 
me.  But  I  was  afraid  to  leave  him;  he  swore 
he  would  kill  me.  And — and  Sam,  I  named  my 
little  boy  for  you — named  him  secretly,  called 
your  name  when  no  one  was  near — and  when 
they  buried  him,  I  went  alone  to  the  grave  at 
night  and  wrote  'Little  Sam'  on  the  board ;  and 


MET  HER  IN  THE  ROAD.       331 

whenever  the  rain  would  wash  it  off  I  would 
write  it  on  again.  And  he  found  it  out  and 
beat  me.  But  his  day  came.  He  died,  and  I 
came  home — walked  nearly  all  the  way,  to  see 
you,  Sam,  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

"My  God,  Lucy,"  was  all  he  said,  and  he 
stood  as  if  struggling  against  a  great  wind,  and 
the  tears  were  streaming  from  his  eyes. 

"Sam,"  she  said,  "even  if  you  cursed  me 
your  voice  would  be  sweet  to  me  after  all  those 
hard  and  cruel  years.  Oh,  I  have  looked  away 
back  upon  a  love  that  was  a  religion  to  me,  and 
you  were  the  prophet  of  that  religion — the 
saint." 

Poor  old  Sam  was  on  his  knees,  with  her 
hand  pressed  to  his  lips ;  and  she  put  her  arms 
about  him  and  raised  him  to  his  feet,  and 
they  stood  there,  weeping.  I  saw  him  take 
her  to  his  weary  bosom — saw  him  lead  her 
away,  and  a  mist  in  my  eyes  shut  them  from 
view. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

HAPPINESS   WAS   MAKING  ITS  ARRANGEMENTS. 

I  did  not  see  Sam  again  during  the  day,  but 
late  at  night  I  found  him  in  the  office,  at  the 
window,  with  the  moon  upon  him;  and  his 
mind  was  not  clothed  in  life's  dull  garment, 
but  was  wrapped  in  the  fabulous  gauzes  that 
are  woven  in  the  loom  of  the  soul.  He  did  not 
utter  a  word  when  I  entered  the  room,  and  in 
silence  I  lighted  the  lamp  and  sat  down.  Slowly 
he  turned  his  face  toward  me,  and  it  was 
like  a  face  of  one  who,  after  years  of  doubt 
and  embittered  controversy,  has  meekly  ac 
cepted  the  gospel  of  Christ. 

"Lucian." 

"Yes,  Sam." 

Another  silence  fell  and  I  thought  that  he 
332 


ARRANGEMENTS  MAKING/  333 

must  be  dreaming  again,  but  he  spoke  and  his 
voice  was  soft. 

"I  have  seen  her  again." 

"Yes,  I  know  it." 

"You  know  it!     Who  told  you?" 

"I  saw  you — I  was  under  the  big  oak  tree 
and  heard  all  that  was  said;  and  I  did  not 
condemn  myself  for  weakness  when  I  shed 
tears  with  you." 

He  was  silent,  gazing  out  upon  the  moon- 
flood,  and  I  did  not  disturb  him  but  waited  for 
him  to  speak.  "I  am  glad  you  were  there, 
Lucian.  I — don't  know  what  to  say  now, 
the  world  is  all  so  new  to  me  again.  You 
won't  be  offended  if  I  ask  you  to  leave  me 
alone,  will  you?" 

I  took  his  hand  and  he  laughed  softly,  and 
when  I  told  him  that  I  would  put  out  the 
light,  he  said,  "Yes,  if  you  please." 

Until  nearly  noon  the  next  day  I  was  en 
gaged  with  a  delegation  in  my  room  at  the 
tavern,  and  when  I  went  to  the  office  there  was 
Old  Sam — or  young  Sam,  now — walking  up 


334  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

and  down  with  a  flush  of  happiness    on    his 
face  and  with  humor  in  his  smile. 

"What  do  you  want,  boy?"  I  asked,  and  he 
laughed  as  I  had  not  heard  him  laugh  for  many 
a  year.  "Sit  down  there,  Lucian,  and  let  me 
tell  you  how  delightful  a  thing  it  is  to  be  what 
the  average  man  would  call  a  fool.  Oh,  I 
wouldn't  be  wise  for  any  amount  of  money.  By 
Jove,  what  a  beautiful  day." 

"Why,  Sam,  it's  drizzling  rain." 
"That  so?  Well,  but  isn't  it  beautiful?  To 
a  man  with — a  heart,  I  might  say — everything 
in  nature  is  beautiful — calm,  storm,  rain  and 
shine.  Yes,  sir,  to  a  man  with  a  heart.  And 
I  have  a  heart  now,  as  fresh,  as  new — as  the 
pair  of  red  top  boots  the  boy  used  to  take  to 
bed  with  him  at  night.  It  was  at  one  time  as 
dead — dead  as  Lazarus,  you  understand,  but 
like  Lazarus  it  arose  from  the  dead.  Lucian, 
I  have  done  that  girl  a  wrong,  all  these  years. 
Look  at  the  infamous  pressure  brought  to  bear 
on  her — her  father  threatening  to  kill  me,  and 
you  know  he  was  a  bad  man.  Why,  it  was 
enough  to  break  any  woman's — child's  spirit; 


ARRANGEMENTS  MAKING.    335 

and  remember  how  young  she  was.  Oh,  but 
you  ought  to  have  heard  that  dear  old  lady 
begging  my  pardon  yesterday." 

"What  dear  old  lady?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  her  mother.  Don't  you  know  her? 
Of  course  you  do.  She  brought  out  the  letters 
that  Lucy  had  written  to  her  from  time  to  time 
— and  such  letters — gems,  every  one  of  them; 
and  in  each  one  was  breathed  her  love  for  me. 
Just  think  of  what  she  went  through.  Why, 
my  suffering  was  as  nothing  compared  with 
hers.  But  how  young  she  looks.  Her  love 
kept  her  youthful — and  her  hope!  Women 
are  more  hopeful  than  men,  Lucian.  By  the 
way,  do  you  know  I'm  worth  more  financially 
than  I  supposed  ?  Yes,  and  I've  got  a  real  estate 
man  looking  up  a  house  for  me.  We  won't 
board,  you  know.  And  now  think  of  it,  the 
consciousness  that  she  is  there  all  the  time, 
waiting  for  me!  Yes,  sir.  Ah,  but  how  she 
has  suffered.  And  how  I  am  going  to  steal  the 
memory  of  it  out  of  her  mind.  You  remember 
I  told  you  it  was  in  the  cards  that  you  might 
go  through  about  what  I  did.  Well,  it's  also 


336  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

in  the  cards  that  you  may  not.  I  believe — I 
simply  know  that  everything  will  come  out  all 
right.  You'll  be  elected,  and  you  know  the 
rest."  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
halted  at  the  window  and  said  :  "I  had  no  idea 
that  girl's  mother  was  so  poor.  She  is  poor. 
And  if  I  had  known  it  don't  you  suppose  I 
would  have  left  things  on  her  doorstep  at  night  ? 
Lucian,  I've  quit  swearing.  What  could  be 
more  useless — more  foolish  than  to  swear? 
Well,  I  must  go  out  now  and  see  that  real 
estate  agent." 

He  went  away  in  merry  mood,  and  after 
walking  about,  musing,  I  sat  down  to  write 
to  Zaleme.  "Sam  Hall  is  soon  to  marry  the 
woman  who  trampled  upon  his  heart  and  killed 
it.  But  she  has  taken  it  up  out  of  the  dust, 
breathed  the  breath  of  love's  life  upon  it  and 
now  it  is  warm.  The  vulture  years,  heavy  and 
black,  that  had  settled  down  upon  him,  have 
sullenly  flapped  their  stiffened  wings  and  flown 
away ;  and  he  is  young  again.  The  other  day, 
before  this  new  life  came  to  him,  he  said 
to  me  that  it  was  in  the  cards  that  I  might 


ARRANGEMENTS  MAKING.    337 

suffer  as  he  had  suffered,  treading  a  desolate 
road  that  seemed  to  be  endless.  I  knew  what  he 
meant — and  now  you  know;  you  know  that  it 
rests  with  you.  How  old  the  path  may  be,  and 
yet  how  new  the  thorns  that  beset  it!  Take 
all  attempts  that  all  men  have  made  to  express 
the  agony  of  every  heart,  and  they  would  not 
portray  the  agony  of  one  heart.  And  Zaleme 
I  swear  to  you  that  I  would  rather  be  dead  and 
buried  in  a  road  that  convicts  tread,  going  to 
and  from  their  dungeons — I  would  rather  be 
devoured  by  wolves  than  to  know  that  year 
after  year  I  must  endure  this  torment.  Morbid ! 
Yes,  I  grant  that  I  am.  But  you  see  I  have 
not  the  courage  to  demand  a  decisive  yes  or  no. 
I  am  struggling  to  conquer,  praying  that  some 
thing  may  happen,  but  what  that  something 
may  be  or  what  I  hope  it  to  be,  I  can  form 
no  clear  idea.  Nothing  is  clear  to  me.  You 
commanded  me  to  win  the  fight  and  I  have 
won  it.  The  final  vote  has  not  been  cast,  it  is 
true,  but  my  opponents  acknowledge  defeat. 
They  know  my  strength.  But  without  you  this 

victory  would  be  no  more  to  me  than  a  drop  of 
22 


338  IN  THE  ALA'MO. 

dew  to  a  man  dying  for  water.  And  now,  as  I 
have  done  your  bidding,  why  don't  you  let  me 
come  to  you  again  ?  Let  me  dig  up  that  night 
mare — that  letter — and  read  it.  No,  not  read 
it.  I  would  dig  it  up  and  bury  it  ten  times  as 
deep.  Before  you  told  me  of  your  dream  I  had 
seen  in  my  fancy  a  snake  coiled  about  the  monu 
ment.  And  I  would  bury  the  marble  in  the 
grave  with  the  letter,  and  I  would  sod  the 
ground  and  leave  nothing  to  mark  the  place. 
Zaleme,  in  your  heart  you  must  feel  that  no 
one  ever  could  have  worshiped  you  as  I  do. 
You  never  knew  of  a  love  so  blinding.  At 
times  I  clutch  myself,  shake  myself  as  if  I 
would  throw  off  an  insanity  that  is  slowly 
settling  upon  me.  And  yet,  if  you  were  dead 
I  should  not  be  so  rent  as  I  am  now.  I 
could  look  upon  your  face  and  feel  that  you 
belonged  to  me  as  much  as  to  any  one  living — 
but  ah,  the  dead !  Can  the  dead  claim  the  dead ! 
Don't  you  see  how  it  all  ends,  every  line  of 
reasoning  that  I  attempt?  *  *  *  Yes, 
your  uncle  told  me  something  and  he  said  that  I 
was  at  liberty  to  tell  you,  but  I  cannot.  I  wish 


ARRANGEMENTS  MAKING.    339 

he  had  not  told  me,  for  being  human  I  was 
tempted  to  tell  you.  But  please  do  not  mention 
it  again.  Were  you  inspired  to  speak  of  the 
greater  glory  of  loving  ?  Did  you  write  it  with 
the  thoughtlessness  of  an  inspiration  and  did 
you  resist  the  temptation  to  erase  it  because  it 
had  been  thoughtless?  Sometimes  it  fills  my 
soul  with  a  great  light." 

I  wrote  page  after  page  in  the  same  heedless 
strain,  posted  the  letter  when  night  had  come, 
and  walked  out  into  the  starlight  to  think,  to 
worry;  and  unconsciously  I  took  the  road  to 
Carson's  house.  I  came  abreast  of  the  place 
just  as  the  moon  was  rising,  and  I  halted  to 
look  upon  the  black  shadow  lying  in  the  yard, 
and  I  thought  how  bright  even  those  black 
shadows  would  become  if  Zaleme  should  sud 
denly  step  forth  from  the  house.  Surely  she 
was  the  light  of  the  world. 

Further  down  the  road  I  came  upon  old  man 
Carson.  He  was  driving  a  flock  of  sheep  into 
a  field,  through  a  gap  which  he  had  made  in 
the  fence,  and  he  did  not  recognize  me  at  first — 
in  the  moonlight  I  was  so  deceiving  to  his  old 


340  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

eyes;  but  when  I  spoke  he  cried  out,  "Oh,  it's 
the  Senator."  We  shook  hands  and  his  grip 
was  powerful  and  he  employed  it  without  stint, 
as  if  by  physical  pressure  he  would  assure  me  of 
his  faith  in  me  and  of  my  election.  I  helped 
him  to  replace  the  rails  and  then  we  walked  up 
the  road  toward  his  house.  The  reconciliation 
of  Sam  and  Lucy  was  known  throughout  the 
neighborhood,  and  the  old  man  was  free  with 
his  opinion:  "It  do  seem  strange  how  things 
come  about,  don't  it  ?  Why,  you  know  I  never 
could  have  figured  on  them  comin'  together 
again.  But  as  the  good  book  says  you  can't 
bet  on  what  the  day  may  bring  forth."  In  his 
earlier  years  he  was  given  to  horse-racing,  and 
he  meant  no  irreverence  now  in  associating  the 
word  "bet"  with  the  scriptures.  "But  it  ap 
pears  to  me,"  he  went  on,  "that  some  folks 
forgive  mighty  easy.  Howsomedever,  it's  the 
best  thing  for  Hall  and  for  her,  too,  for  that 
matter.  Oh,  she's  a  good  woman,  mind  you; 
and  everybody  speaks  of  how  young  she  looks. 
Why  is  it  a  woman  don't  like  it  when  you  say 
another  woman  looks  young?  That  don't 


ARRANGEMENTS  MAKING.    341 

necessarily  mean  that  all  other  women  look 
old,  but  it  seems  to  strike  some  of  them  that 
way.  I  spoke  about  Lucy's  lookin'  young — not 
more  than  three  or  four  times,  and  my  wife  she 
'lowed  I'd  better  have  it  made  into  a  song  so 
I  could  sing  it.  Well,  the  fall  of  the  year  is 
almost  upon  us,  and  it  will  soon  be  your  time  to 
enter  into  the  contest  over  there  at  the  legis 
lature.  I  don't  reckon,  howsomedever,  it  will 
be  much  of  a  contest — the  thing  is  putty  well 
cut  and  dried,  it  seems  like  to  me.  Senator, 
I  don't  want  to  tromp  on  corns,  nor  nothin' 
of  the  sort,  but  I'd  like  to  know  if  you  an'  my 
niece  are  goin'  to  marry?" 

"I  hope  so,  Mr.  Carson.  That's  all  I  can 
say." 

"And  I  reckon  it's  about  enough  to  say.  To 
be  the  wife  of  a  Senator  is  mighty  fetchin'. 
There  ain't  many  of  them  that  can  git  away 
from  that  fact  and  stay  away,  and  I  reckon  my 
niece  is  a  human  bein'  along  with  the  rest  of 
them.  Let  me  see,  now,  what  is  her  name?" 

"Why,  Zaleme,  of  course.  Is  it  possible  you 
don't  know?" 


342  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

"Oh,  yes,  Zaleme;  but  why  of  course?  I've 
got  so  much  on  my  mind  that  I  can't  recollect 
all  these  odd  things.  It  might  be  of  course  to 
you  and  not  to  me,  you  understand.  The  evenin' 
you  first  got  back  here  from  Kentucky,  I  asked 
my  wife  what  the  girl's  name  was  and — and  it 
seemed  to  fret  her  a  little ;  and  she  'lowed  that 
I  could  remember  a  horse's  name  easy  enough, 
and  I  'lowed  I  could  if  I  had  my  money  on  him. 
And  besides,  you  know  a  man  ain't  apt  to  give 
a  horse  such  an  odd  name,  that  is,  not  often, 
but  I  have  known  horses  with  odd  names,  but 
somehow  they  were  easy  to  recollect." 

He  insisted  upon  my  coming  in  to  sit  with 
him  until  bedtime,  but  I  had  grown  weary 
of  his  talk;  and  I  left  him,  half  fancying  that 
I  ought  to  shake  myself  lest  some  of  his  words 
were  clinging  to  my  garments,  to  be  heard 
again  out  on  the  road. 

I  met  Sam  in  the  tavern  and  he  told  me  that 
he  had  just  closed  a  trade  for  a  house;  and  I 
smiled  and  said  that  I  was  glad,  but  it  was  not 
wholly  a  truth,  for  afterward  I  felt  that  for  a 
moment  I  must  have  been  envious  of  his  hap 
piness. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

GRATEFUL  FOR  A  HEROIC  DEED. 

Envy  is  a  sneaking  evil.  It  sneaked  into  my 
mind  and  it  sneaked  out,  unwelcome  serpent; 
and  I  told  Sam  and  he  laughed.  What  had 
become  of  his  three-cornered  smile?  How 
busy  he  was  with  carpenters  and  painters!  I 
went  with  him  to  his  house,  dreary  among 
scrub  oaks;  but  at  a  word  from  the  heart's 
magician  dahlias  and  roses  sprang  up  in  waste 
places.  And  it  was  not  long  before  there  came 
the  transformation  scene. 

Lucy  was  kept  close  at  home,  with  women 
who  were  sewing  for  her,  but  she  emerged 
one  night  and  rode  in  a  carriage;  and  friends 
who  had  not  seen  her  for  years  came  forward 
to  take  her  hand  as  she  and  Sam  stood  side  by 
side  in  the  church.  The  next  day  I  halted  at 
343 


344  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

Sam's  house,  announcing  myself  as  a  thirsty 
traveler,  and  they  laughed  so  merrily  in  their 
happiness  that  the  serpent  was  likely  to  sneak 
into  my  mind  again. 

"I'm  not  doing  anything  today  but  listening 
to  music,"  said  Sam.  "Lucy  has  been  singing 
to  me — and  I  want  you  to  look  at  that  piano; 
bargain  if  you  ever  saw  one — was  sent  out 
last  night  while  we  were  shaking  hands  in  the 
church.  But  didn't  you  see  it  when  you  came 
home  with  us?  Of  course  you  did,  but  my 
mind  has  been  so  taken  up  with  music  that  I 
almost  forgot  who  did  come  home  with  us." 

"Why,  Sam,"  said  his  wife,  smiling  upon 
him  and  brushing  something  off  his  shoulder — 
something  doubtless  invisible  to  any  eye  except 
the  eye  of  a  loving  woman — "there  are  things 
you  must  not  forget — not  Lucian,  for  you  know 
we  owe  so  much  to  him." 

"Yes,"  Sam  cried,  "I  do  especially.  I  would 
have  died  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Lucian."  And 
his  wife  gave  me  her  hand  out  of  gratitude,  and 
I  accepted  it  as  if  the  heroic  deed  were 
fresh  in  my  memory.  "Sam,  dear,"  she  said, 


GRATEFUL  FOR  A   DEED.     345 

"you'd  better  shut  that  door  for  the  air  is  pos 
itively  cool." 

"Is  it?"  he  asked,  obeying  her  and  giving 
me  a  humorous  wink.  "Now  you'll  have  to 
tell  me  about  these  things.  I  am  a  stranger, 
you  know — haven't  got  used  to  myself  yet. 
Yes,  Lucian,  you  kept  me  alive."  His  wife 
gave  me  her  grateful  hand  again,  murmured 
"how  good  of  you,"  and  we  all  of  us  were 
foolish  alike.  And  after  a  time  what  a  dinner 
they  served,  black-eyed  peas  with  corn  bread 
baked  by  an  old  negro  woman!  Now,  I  hold 
that  the  making  of  corn  bread  should  not  be 
attempted  by  one  not  born  and  reared  in  the 
South.  It  ought  to  be  made  by  a  negress,  and 
to  attain  perfection  in  the  art  she  must  years 
ago  have  become  a  grandmother.  Once  I  heard 
an  old  Tennesseean  railing  against  France  and 
when  I  reminded  him  of  Lafayette,  he  ex 
claimed:  "That's  all  right  as  far  as  it  goes, 
but  a  French  cook  over  here  at  this  hotel  put 
sugar  in  corn  bread."  He  swore  that  such  an 
outrage  ought  to  be  punishable  by  law,  and  as 
the  years  pass — as  we  drift  further  and  further 


346  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

away  from  the  perfume  and  the  romance  of 
the  years  gone  by,  I  find  myself  more  ready 
to  subscribe  to  the  old  fellow's  doctrine.  I  once 
saw  a  private  letter  in  which  it  was  declared 
that  "Old  Hickory"  swore  he  would  have  a 
Belgian's  ears  for  the  crime  of  boiling  snap 
beans  in  clear  water,  that  is,  without  bacon. 
Sam  listened  to  me  as  I  recounted  those  melan 
choly  facts  and  then  roared  out,  "Why,  if  you 
weren't  already  elected,  Lucian,  such  convic 
tions  as  you  have  just  expressed  would  soon 
turn  the  tide  in  your  favor." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  when  I  had  taken  leave 
of  them,  Lucy  called  me  back  and  running  to 
meet  me,  she  thanked  me  again  for  having 
saved  her  husband's  life.  I  assured  her  that 
the  corn  bread  had  more  than  discharged  the 
debt,  and  Sam  laughed,  with  such  an  outburst 
that  a  mule  colt  that  was  following  a  mare, 
bestrode  by  a  negro  preacher,  brayed  his  de 
fiance  and  kicked  up  his  heels. 

At  the  postoffice  a  letter  was  waiting  for  me, 
and  I  shut  myself  in  my  room  with  it;  and 
time  ceased  to  be.  "How  surprised  I  was  to 


GRATEFUL   FOR   A   DEED.     347 

hear  that  the  woman  who  wronged  Mr.  Hall 
has  returned  and  raised  his  heart  from  the 
dead.  Don't  you  remember  promising  me, 
while  you  were  here,  that  I  might  read  a  let 
ter  which  he  had  written  to  you?  But  I  have 
never  read  it.  Did  it  contain  something  about 
me?  Yes,  for  you  intimated  as  much.  And 
if  it  was  not  very  bad  or  if  it  were  very  good 
you  will  tell  me  after  a  while  I  know.  But 
why  don't  you  tell  me  what  uncle  said  that  you 
might  tell?  Oh,  it  is  easy  enough  to  request 
me  not  to  mention  it  again,  but  how  can  you 
expect  me  to  be  frank  and  confidential  when 
you  keep  so  much  from  me  ?  *  *  *  Some 
times  I  don't  know  what  to  write  to  you — and 
at  such  times  I  should  not  know  what  to  say 
if  you  were  here,  not  because  of  a  desire  to  be 
silent,  but  because  I  should  be  afraid  to  trust 
myself  to  speak.  When  I  am  walking  over  a 
path  long  neglected  by  me,  I  halt  and  gaze  at 
a  once  familiar  object  and  muse.  'How  I  have 
changed  since  I  saw  it  last/  And  then,  when 
I  return  to  the  house,  I  wonder  if  really  I  have 
changed  at  all.  One  day  you  may  perhaps 


348  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

know  what  I  mean  by  the  greater  glory  of  lov 
ing.  I  tore  up  a  letter  that  I  finished  just  now ; 
it  was  to  you,  and  in  it  I  attempted  to  tell  you 
something,  but  fearing  that  I  might  not  be 
honest  with  myself,  I  destroyed  it.  But  if  my 
nature  should  be  wrought  upon  to  the  extent 
of  a  revolution,  or  reformation,  I  might  bet 
ter  say,  I  will  tell  you  of  it.  Mother  noticed 
the  rapid  movement  of  my  pen  while  I  was 
writing  to  you,  and  she  reminded  me  of  your 
prominence  among  men  and  declared  that  I 
was  not  careful  enough  with  my  letters.  I  re 
plied  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  be  school- 
mamish  with  you,  but  now  that  I  think  of  it, 
I'm  afraid  I  am,  at  times.  *  *  *  The 
weather  here  is  growing  cooler.  I  don't  know 
that  I  ever  before  so  carefully  noted  the  chang 
ing  season.  Dad  laughed  at  me  yesterday  and 
said  that  I  had  my  fingers  on  the  pulse  of  the 
thermometer.  I  have  never  been  fond  of  snow, 
but  now  I  wish  for  it — the  flakes  will  seem 
as  messages  from  January,  telling  of  your  vic 
tory.  In  the  letter  which  I  tore  up  just  now, 


GRATEFUL   FOR  A   DEED.      349 

I  believe  there  was  something  about  your  com 
ing  here  again.    But  no,  wait,  please." 

Yes,  it  was  plain  enough ;  she  was  ambitious. 
And  it  stung  me  to  think  that  Washington 
could  turn  the  scale  in  my  favor,  but  I  dared 
not  reproach  her  with  it.  I  was  a  coward. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ON   THE  BATTLE  GROUND. 

From  all  parts  of  the  State  representative 
men  were  speeding  toward  the  capital.  How 
moping  had  been  the  weeks  since  heavy  upon 
me  had  fallen  the  conviction  that  Zaleme  was 
to  be  won  alone  by  my  election.  Our  corre 
spondence  had  suffered  no  interruption,  each 
posted  a  letter  for  the  return  mail,  but  I  had 
never  ceased  to  worry  over  what  she  sometimes 
must  have  meant.  Just  before  leaving  Riplar 
for  the  scene  of  contest,  I  thus  wrote  to  her : 
"I  am  going  to  fight  hard,  if  needs  be,  not 
that  I  may  stand  upon  an  eminence  with  a 
light  falling  about  me — not  that  I  may  claim 
the  reward  of  an  ambition  that  came  out  of  the 
school  reader,  borne  by  the  words  of  Webster 

and  of  Clay — not  that,  but  because  I  have  come 
350 


ON  THE  BATTLE  GROUND.    351 

to  believe  that  thus  honored  I  shall  be  more 
worthy  of  you."  A  coward  still,  I  was  afraid 
to  say  that  she  would  deem  me  fitter  for  her 
love. 

Hotze  had  a  brass  band  engaged  to  meet  me 
at  the  railway  station,  but  I  dodged  him  and 
reached  the  hotel,  not  as  a  laughing  stock,  but 
as  a  sober-minded  man.  Haney  had  arranged 
headquarters,  a  suite  of  cheerful  rooms,  and 
already  had  assembled  a  crowd  of  friends  and 
supporters.  Hotze  complained  that  I  had  given 
him  the  slip.  "It's  all  right,"  said  he,  "but  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  such  performances  are 
dangerous.  The  boys  wanted  to  see  you.  Say, 
where's  that  friend  of  yours  that  was  with  you 
the  last  time  I  saw  you?" 

"Sam  Hall?  Why,  there  he  stands." 
"That  so  ?  I  swear  I  didn't  know  him — he's 
so  changed.  And  I  don't  reckon  he'd  give  it 
to  me  now  quite  as  raw  as  he  did  on  one  occa 
sion.  Well,  we'll  make  ^'em  sick  on  the  first 
ballot,  and  then  they'll  get  sicker  as  time  goes 
on.  Brother  Quailes,  how  are  you?  Just  got 
here?" 


352  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

There  was  something  peculiar  about  the  grip 
which  Quailes  gave  to  my  hand  and  shortly 
afterward,  when  an  opportunity  offered,  I 
asked  him  if  anything  had  happened. 

"Everything  has  happened,"  he  said,  grip 
ping  my  hand  again.  "But  sir,  do  you  know 
that  after  all  my  high  stepping  and  scroll  work 
the  old  lady  went  stale  again  ?  Yes,  sir,  and  this 
time  I  was  determined  to  tree  the  cause.  And 
I  did.  The  girl  confessed  that  the  old  lady 
was  dead  set  on  her  marrying  a  fellow  that 
has  money — no  sense,  mind  you — nothing  but 
money.  I  asked  the  girl  if  she  cared  anything 
for  him  and  she  put  her  arms  around  my  neck 
and  said  she  hated  him,  and  that  was  enough 
for  me.  I  found  out  where  the  fellow  was  and 
I  went  to  him.  He  was  buying  cotton  at  the 
time,  on  a  platform  at  a  railroad  station.  I 
went  up  to  him  and  asked  if  he  could  give  me 
a  few  moments  of  his  valuable  time,  and  he 
looked  at  me  and  asked  what  I  wanted.  'You 
seem  to  be  a  very  pleasant  old  gentleman,' 
said  I.  This  nettled  him  and  he  replied  that 
he  wasn't  so  all-fired  old.  And  then  he  de- 


ON  THE  BATTLE  GROUND.    353 

manded  my  business.  I  told  him  it  was  impor 
tant  and  I  took  him  to  one  side  and  said :  'A 
man  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  didn't  think 
you  were  going  to  live  very  long.  He  said 
you  were  trying  to  take  a  girl  away  from  a 
desperate  sort  of  a  fellow  named  Quailes,  one 
of  the  gamest  men  in  the  State,  if  not  the  gam- 
est,  and  that  Quailes  is  aching  to  draw  off  your 
blood/  'Who  are  you,  sir !'  he  exclaimed,  and 
I  said,  'Oh,  I'm  Quailes,  and  I  want  to  tell 
you  something  while  your  hearing  is  good. 
That  little  woman  doesn't  love  you — she  loves 
me,  and  I'm  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  fate.  You  know  what  that  means.  I 
don't  want  to  hurt  you,  as  I  am  about  to  pro 
fess  religion,  and  your  blood  might  set  me 
back  a  little,  but  this  thing  has  gone  far  enough. 
And  now  I  tell  you  what  you  do — write  this 
sort  of  a  letter  to  the  old  lady — write  it  here 
in  my  notebook :  "My  Dear  Madam,  I  do  not 
wish  to  stand  in  the  way  of  a  young  fellow 
who  loves  your  daughter — one  of  the  finest  and 
most  affectionate  youths  in  the  country — so, 
therefore,  I  must  bid  you  good-bye."  I  don't 

23 


354  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

know  that  he  was  scared,  though  he  was  a 
comparative  stranger — I  think  he  saw  the  hu 
mor  of  the  situation.  At  all  events  he  wrote 
the  note  and  I  sent  it  to  the  dear  old  lady,  and 
the  next  day  she  wired  me  word  to  come  and 
I  went.  She  was  very  pleasant,  but  I  said, 
'Madam,  that's  all  lost  on  me ;  give  me  the  girl/ 
She  did  and  without  any  fuss  at  all  we  were 
married,  and  after  this  senatorial  rush  is  over 
I  want  to  present  to  you  the  handsomest  crea 
ture  you  ever  saw,  and  a  dame  that  thinks  the 
world  of  me  and  my  friends." 

So  busy  were  we  all  of  us  that  it  was  long 
after  midnight  when  we  went  to  bed.  And  the 
next  day  the  fight  began  to  assume  an  earnest 
look.  Apperson's  headquarters  were  in  the  same 
tavern  as  mine,  and  I  met  him  in  the  corridor. 
He  halted,  shook  hands  and  said :  "Well,  sir, 
no  matter  what  the  result  may  be,  it  cannot  al 
ter  the  fact  that  you  have  made  a  most  bril 
liant  campaign."  I  thanked  him,  wondering 
why  Zaleme  had  not  written  to  me.  A  letter 
from  her  was  more  than  due.  She  knew  that 


ON  THE  BATTLE  GROUND.     355 

the  contest  had  begun.  Why  did  she  not 
strengthen  me  with  words  of  encouragement  ? 

The  first  ballot  placed  me  far  in  advance  of 
any  one  competitor,  still  I  fell  short  of  a  ma 
jority  of  the  votes  cast,  thus  failing  of  election. 
But  my  shortage,  the  wise  ones  declared,  was 
soon  to  be  made  good,  albeit  there  was  talk  of 
a  "dead-lock."  The  next  day  developed  no 
decided  change,  and  the  talk  of  a  "dead-lock" 
was  spreading.  That  night  I  was  closeted  for 
a  long  time  with  Haney  and  a  number  of  ex 
perienced  politicians.  "There  is  only  one  dan 
ger,"  said  Haney.  "They  may  spring  a  dark 
horse.  But  even  that  is  not  much  of  a  danger. 
We  can  hold  our  ground  and  wear  'em  out." 
And  I  went  away  wondering  why  I  did  not 
hear  from  Zaleme.  Hotze,  who  had  not  been 
invited  to  the  close  caucus,  said  that  he  must 
have  a  word  with  me  in  my  room.  I  tried  to 
beg  off  but  he  insisted  and  I  yielded.  He  was 
careful  to  see  that  the  door  was  tightly  closed ; 
he  moved  about  mysteriously  and  then  sat 
down. 

"This  is  going  to  be  a  hard  fight,"  said  he. 


356  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

I  nodded  assent  and  he  continued:  "I  have 
been  in  so  many  of  them  that  I  know  their  color 
in  a  minute — they  can't  fool  papa." 

"Well,"  said  I,  wishing  that  he  were  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  "what  do  you  advise?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  are  prepared  to 
hear  my  advice  or  not." 

"I  don't  know  either,  but  out  with  it." 

"That's  all  right,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  right 
now  that  something's  got  to  be  done." 

"Well." 

He  hemmed  and  hawed ;  he  went  to  the  door, 
came  back  and  said :  "They  are  going  to  use 
money.  Do  you  know  that?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  care." 

"Well,  now  let  me  say  that  you'd  better  care. 
Do  you  know  what  I  can  do— with  a  thousand 
dollars?" 

"I  know  what  I  can  do  and  I  will  do  it  if  you 
don't  get  out  of  this  room." 

I  surely  would  have  kicked  him,  for  he 
showed  a  disposition  to  argue  the  point  with 
me,  but  Sam  called  me  from  the  corridor,  to  ask 
if  I  were  engaged ;  and  when  I  told  him  no  he 


ON  THE  BATTLE  GROUND,    357 

came  in,  giving  to  Hotze,  who  passed  him  go 
ing  out,  a  sharp  and  searching  look. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  that  fellow,"  said 
my  friend.  "I  hear  that  he  is  trying  to  squeeze 
money  out  of  both  sides.  He  ought  to  be 
kicked  into  the  street,  but  it  would  simply  raise 
a  howl  and  do  no  particular  good.  Haven't 
you  heard  from  her  yet,  Lucian?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"No,  not  a  word;  and  it  takes  my  strength 
out  of  this  fight." 

"But  don't  worry — it  will  all  come  right." 
He  halted  at  the  door  and  looked  back  at  me, 
his  eye  bright  and  his  complexion  clear.  There 
was  no  Old  Sam  now.  "I  just  wanted  to  know 
if  you  had  heard  from  her.  Good  night, 
Lucian." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

The  night  was  almost  sleepless,  and  with 
my  mind  far  away  I  could  scarcely  realize  that 
hundreds  of  earnest  men  were  struggling  in  my 
behalf;  to  me  it  was  a  dull  and  heavy  dream. 
Impatient  of  the  coming  light,  I  arose  in  the 
brown  of  the  morning  and  walked  about  the 
streets ;  and  on  the  hilltop,  in  the  lighter-grow 
ing  gray  of  the  fledgling  morn  arose  the  pride 
of  the  State,  the  capitol  whose  monstrous  gran 
ite  walls  could  have  defied  a  mediaeval  siege. 
Therein  the  fight,  my  fight,  was  soon  to  be  re 
sumed.  No,  not  my  fight,  but  a  contest  fought 
by  politicians  who  acknowledged  me  as  their 
head;  but  in  spirit  I  was  far  behind  the  most 
apathetic  of  them.  My  fight  was  raging  within 
myself — in  my  tortured  mind. 
358 


CONCLUSION.  359 

Upon  returning  to  the  tavern  the  clerk 
handed  several  letters  to  me,  and  they  were 
without  color  or  life — till  suddenly  my  blood 
leaped,  for  there  was  one  from  Zaleme — and 
I  rubbed  my  murky  eyes  and  looked  again  and 
again.  Yes,  it  was  postmarked  San  Antonio. 
I  hastened  to  my  room,  but  I  did  not  long  re 
main  therein,  to  puzzle  and  to  worry;  I  was 
out  again,  looking  for  Haney.  This  is  what 
I  had  read : 

"Night  after  night  in  my  dreams  I  saw  the 
serpent  coiled  about  the  marble ;  day  after  day 
I  felt  that  my  nature  had  changed,  that  my 
heart  was  growing.  And  oh,  I  could  see  you 
as  you  turned  away  to  leave  me ;  and  when  you 
looked  back  a  cry  arose  to  my  lips,  but  I  smoth 
ered  it.  I  had  striven  to  be  frank  with  you,  but 
could  not  be;  a  new  nature  was  coming  and  I 
was  forced  to  wait.  Lucian,  I  have  dug  up  the 
letter,  and  now,  in  its  silver  coffin,  it  is  here 
on  the  desk  as  I  write.  The  silver  is  bright 
for  I  had  wrapped  it  in  lamb's  wool  and  it 
throws  the  sunlight  into  my  face — the  light  of 
a  great  revelation,  I  was  going  to  say,  but  I 


360  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

will  say  nothing  now;  I  will  wait  just  a  little 
longer.  And  for  what?  For  you.  Together 
we  will  go  at  night  to  the  Alamo,  and  in  the 
corner  where  the  words  were  written — in  the 
corner  where  I  know  there  is  no  red  cross  upon 
the  wall,  we  will  read  them.  At  times  you  have 
demanded  that  the  letter  should  be  read,  and 
then  you  have  said,  no,  as  if  afraid.  But  you 
must  fear  no  longer — we  must  listen  to  the 
words  spoken  by  the  dead,  whatever  they  may 
be." 

Yes,  I  was  looking  for  Haney,  and  I  found 
him,  laboring  with  a  legislator  whose  mind  had 
not  been  made  up.  "Want  to  see  you  again," 
said  the  politician,  speaking  to  the  voter;  and 
then  following  me  into  a  corner  whither  I 
hastily  led  him,  he  asked:  "Anything  wrong?" 

"No,  something  is  right." 

"Good,  what  is  it?" 

"I  am  going  to  San  Antonio  today." 

He  gave  me  a  hard  look.  "What,  and  do 
you  call  that  something  good.  And  at  this 
time.  You  can't  mean  it.  Impossible." 

"But  I  do  mean  it.    I  must  go." 


CONCLUSION.  361 

"My  dear  sir,  it  is  almost  suicidal  to  go  now 
even  for  a  week  yet,  perhaps.  You  have 
no  such  interests  anywhere  on  earth  as  you 
have  here  right  now.  And  you  can't  af 
ford " 

"I  can't  afford  to  stay  here;  I  can't  explain 
to  you,  but  I  must  go — now." 

"Mr.  Howardson,  is  it  possible  that  you  are 
losing  your  mind?" 

"It  may  be  possible  that  I  am  looking  for  it." 

"If  you  leave  now,  sir,  it  may  be  the  acci 
dental  signal  to  spring  the  dark  horse — and  in 
my  opinion,  if  he's  sprung,  with  you  out  of  the 
way,  he'll  win.  Come  with  me  a  moment.  I 
want  you  to  talk  to  three  men  we  have  almost 
won  over ;  I  want  you  to  tell  one  of  them  that 
you  did  not  publish  a  book  of  poems.  Come 
on  with  me." 

"I  can't — my  train  will  leave  within  a  few 
minutes." 

He  followed  me  to  the  curbstone,  still  urg 
ing  me  not  to  go;  and  imploringly  he  put  his 
hand  on  my  arm  after  I  was  seated  in  the 
carriage.  But  I  left  him,  with  my  heart 


362  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

aflame,  with  my  soul  knocking  at  the  portals  of 
a  heaven  high  above  any  state  house  built  by 
man. 

Sam  was  at  the  station.  I  had  not  forgotten 
him — had  inquired  for  him  and  had  been  told 
that  he  was  out  driving  with  his  wife.  He 
took  my  hand,  smiling,  and  I  was  surprised 
that  he  did  not  ask  for  an  explanation  of  my 
hasty  departure — surprised,  indeed,  that  he 
knew  I  was  going.  "I  heard  you  talking  to 
Haney,"  said  he,  "and  I  beat  you  over  here. 
Now  don't  apologize  to  me  for  going.  I  know. 
Let  everything  go  to — the  deuce.  I've  stopped 
swearing,  Lucian.  But  everything  will  be  all 
right.  You  take  my  word  for  it  and  I  know 
more  than  these  politicians.  Who  managed 
your  campaign?  Who  knew  more  than  the 
rest  of  them  then — all  along  ?  Hold  on ;  don't 
be  in  such  a  swivit  to  get  on.  You've  got 
plenty  of  time.  I  met  Hotze  this  morning  and 
I  said  to  him,  said  I,  'Old  oil  oozer,  if  I  hadn't 
stopped  swearing  you'd  hear  some  music  that 
would  sound  like  a  nest  of  bumblebees  stirred 


CONCLUSION.  363 

up.'     There's  the  bell.     It's  all    right    now. 
Good-bye." 

Was  ever  a  train  so  slow  ?  Did  ever  a  train 
stop  so  long  at  an  unimportant  station  ?  Night 
came  and  I  was  still  far  short  of  San  Antonio. 
But  at  last  I  saw  the  old  town's  gleaming 
lights.  I  did  not  know  the  number  of  Dr.  Ack- 
lin's  house,  but  at  the  station  I  found  a  cab 
man  who  knew  where  he  lived.  First,  however, 
I  was  driven  to  the  home  of  the  Alamo's  keeper 
and  there  borrowed  a  key  and  a  lantern.  I 
urged  the  cabman  to  speed  his  horses,  but  was 
ever  a  Jehu  so  slow  ?  I  looked  out,  far  down 
the  street  and  could  see  no  house  that  held  a 
suggestion  of  the  Doctor's  place,  but  the  hack 
turned  a  corner  and  there  it  was,  and  in  the 
parlor  a  light  was  burning.  But  there  was  no 
old-time  tune  such  as  had  come  out  of  the  dark 
ened  room,  when  with  questioning  mind,  un 
able  to  comprehend  self,  I  had  accompanied 
the  Doctor  home.  I  did  not  ring  the  bell,  I 
tapped  upon  the  parlor  door,  and — and  Zaleme 
opened  it ;  and  I  stood  there,  almost  blind,  with 
my  hand  on  the  door  frame,  scarcely  seeing 


364  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

her ;  but  she  spoke  and  touched  my  hand — my 
vision  was  cleared,  and  there  she  stood,  pale 
in  the  bright  light.  I  did  not  seek  to  put  my 
arms  about  her;  I  saw  the  flash  of  the  silver 
coffin,  and  a  trembling  seized  me.  But  how 
quiet  she  was ! 

"I  expected  you  tonight,  and  I  was  waiting/' 
she  said.  "I  am  walking  in  a  dream,  Lucian, 
but  I  shall  soon  be  awake."  She  put  on  her 
cloak,  I  standing  there  with  a  cold  light  daz 
zling  me ;  and  taking  up  that  light,  the  casket, 
she  said :  "We  will  go  now." 

I  did  not  even  hold  her  hand  as  the  carriage 
rolled  along — there  was  an  awe  upon  me;  but 
my  mind  was  resting,  and  how  thankful  I  was 
to  be  free  from  that  aching  heaviness.  And  yet 
at  times  I  trembled,  when  the  silver  in  her  lap 
caught  the  gleam  of  an  electric  light.  I  did  not 
ask  a  question,  and  she  spoke  not  a  word.  When 
the  carriage  halted  at  the  Alamo  I  helped  her 
out  in  silence.  Just  at  that  moment,  a  boy  ran 
up  and  handed  a  telegram  to  me,  and,  signing 
his  book,  I  tore  open  the  envelope,  glanced  at 
the  message  and  thrust  it  into  my  pocket.  She 


CONCLUSION.  365 

asked  if  it  were  bad  news  from  the  capital  and 
I  told  her  no. 

And  now  we  stood  in  the  corner,  with  the 
light  of  the  lantern  falling  from  a  niche  in  the 
wall.  She  unlocked  the  casket,  looking  up 
with  a  smile ;  and  she  said  she  still  was  dream 
ing.  She  handed  the  letter,  unopened,  to  me, 
and  bade  me  read  it ;  but  I  shook  my  head. 

"You  must  not  be  afraid  now,"  she  said. 
"No  appeal  can  take  that  new  nature  away 
from  me." 

She  broke  the  seal.  The  letter  was  brief. 
She  read  it  quickly,  and  with  beating  heart  I 
watched  her,  and  how  strange  a  light  was  in 
her  eye  when  she  handed  the  paper  to  me. 
There  in  my  hand  was  the  contents  of  a  little 
grave  that  had  caused  me  such  agony.  And 
these  were  the  words  that  so  long  had  been  in 
the  ground : 

"Zaleme,  I  am  not  worthy  of  you — I  forged 
your  uncle's  name  and  I  am  a  criminal.  But  a 
woman  might  even  forgive  this,  but  you  cannot 
forgive  a  shallow  and  treacherous  heart.  I 
grew  up  to  believe  that  I  must  always  love  you, 


366  IN  THE  ALAMO. 

and  who  but  a  wretch  could  have  suffered  a 
change  of  feeling,  and  that,  too,  in  so  short  a 
time  ?  You  have  always  urged  frankness ;  time 
and  again  you  have  made  me  promise  that  I 
would  tell  you  if  I  ever  changed  toward  you, 
even  in  the  slightest  degree.  I  never  thought 
that  such  a  thing  was  possible,  but  it  was,  and 
that,  too,  even  after  the  oath.  And  drugs  may 
be  the  cause,  but  be  that  as  it  may,  another 
woman — you  understand,  and  I  do  not  think 
that  you  can  care  so  much,  for  you  wanted  to 
be  loved  rather  than  to  love;  and  now  I  free 
you  from  your  oath." 

I  made  no  comment,  but  in  silence  held  the 
letter  out  to  her,  and  for  a  moment  she  re 
fused  to  accept  of  it,  shrinking  back,  and  then 
she  almost  snatched  it  as  if  in  anger.  She  tore 
the  paper  into  small  bits  and  I  saw  them  flut 
tering  at  her  feet  as  she  strove  to  trample  them 
into  the  dirt.  And  now  she  had  clasped  her 
hands  across  her  bosom,  and  upon  her  counte 
nance  was  that  glorified  radiance  which  for  a 
moment  had  illumined  her  when  together  we 
had  stood  beneath  the  apple  tree.  But  even 


CONCLUSION.  367 

now  there  came  the  cool  shudder  of  a  doubt, 
for  I  thought  of  her  command  that  I  must  go 
forth  and  win  the  fight. 

"Zaleme,  I  have  read  your  message.  Now 
you  read  mine." 

I  gave  her  the  telegram  and  looked  at  her 
eagerly  as  she  read  it,  and  when  she  gave  me 
her  eyes  again,  the  light  within  them  was  di 
vine,  and  my  heart  leaped  beyond  all  earthly 
bounds — she  was  in  my  arms,  mine  completely 
now ;  and  we  heard  the  wind  lisping  about  the 
old  battlements.  But  the  telegram :  "A  dark 
horse  has  been  sprung — elected  and  your  en 
emies  are  rejoicing  over  your  defeat.  Haney." 

"All  for  me,  Lucian,  all  for  me,  and  I  am 
so  thankful  now  that  you  are  not  elected — I 
should  be  jealous  of  the  office,  there  in  that 
city  where  they  change  the  hearts  of  men.  And 
now,  oh  my  precious,  you  know  what  I  mean 
by  the  greater  glory  of  loving — oh,  my  own." 

THE    END. 


NEW  v  PUBLICATIONS 


Twenty  Years 
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BY  S.  H.  M.  BYERS, 

Late  United  States  Consul- 
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UNCLE 

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present  day,  with  the  scene  laid  in 
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There  is  an  intensity  of  realism  in 
Harold  R  Vynne's  latest  novel  that 
makes  it  read  more  like  some  of  those 
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CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK. 


The  Rand-McNally 
Twentieth  Century  12mos. 

This  series  comprises  titles  carefully  selected  from  the  stand 
ard  works  of  the  world's  greatest  authors,  suitable  for  any  li 
brary  and  attractive  to  readers  of  the  most  refined  tastes.  The 
books  are  well  printed  on  extra  laid  paper,  deckle  edge,  equal 
to  and  indistinguishable  from  the  best  hand-made,  and  are 
bound  in  red  polished  buckram,  with  richly  ornamental  and  ar 
tistic  gold  side  and  back  stamp,  and  gold  topped. 


ABBE  CONSTANTIN. 

Halevy. 

ABBOT.  Scott. 

ADAM   BEDE.  Eliot. 

AESOP'S  FABLES. 

ALHAMBRA.  Irving. 

ALICE.  Lytton. 

AN  AMERICAN  GIRL  IN 
LONDON.  Duncan. 

ANDERSEN'S  FAIRY 
TALES.  Andersen. 

ANNE  OF  GEIERSTEIN. 

Scott. 

ANTIQUARY.  Scott. 

ARABIAN  NIGHTS  EN 
TERTAINMENTS. 

ARDATH.  Corelli. 

AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Russell. 

BARON  MUNCHAUSEN. 
Raspe. 

BARRACK  ROOM  BAL 
LADS,  DEPARTMENT 
AL  DITTIES,  AND 
OTHER  VERSE.  Kipling. 

BEHIND  A  MASK.  Daudet. 

BETROTHED.  Scott. 

BETWEEN  TWO  OPIN 
IONS.  Loti. 

BEYOND  THE  CITY. 

Doyle. 

BIG   BOW  MYSTERY. 

Zangwill. 

BLACK  BEAUTY.      Sewell. 

24 


BLACK  DWARF.  Scott. 
BLACK  TULIP.  Dumas. 
BONDMAN.  Caine. 

BRIDE       OF       LAMMER- 
MOOR.  Scott. 

BRYANT'S  POEMS.Bryant. 
CALLED  BACK.  Conway. 
CAST  UP  BY  THE  SEA. 

Baker. 

CAXTONS,  THE        Lytton. 
CHANGE  OF  AIR.      Hope. 
CHILDREN  OF  THE   AB 
BEY.  Roche. 
CHOUANS.                   Balzac. 
CLEOPATRA.          Haggard. 
CLOISTER  WENDHUSEN. 
Heimburg. 

COUNT        ROBERT       OF 
PARIS.  Scott. 

COWPER'S  POEMS. 

Cowper. 

CRIQUETTE.  -  Halevy. 
DANESBURY  HOUSE. 

Wood. 

DARK  DAYS.  Conway. 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 

Dickens. 

DEEMSTER.  Caine. 

DEERSLAYER.  Cooper. 
DESCENT  OF  MAN. 

Darwin. 
DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Hardy. 
DEVEREUX.  Lytton. 


T  WENTIETH  CENTUR  Y. 


DIANA  OF  THE  CROSS- 
WAYS.  Meredith. 
DOCTOR  RAMEAU.  Ohnet. 
DOMBEY  &  SON.  Dickens. 
DONOVAN.  Lyall. 
DOROTHY'S  DOUBLE. 

Henty. 

EAST  LYNNE.  Wood. 

ELSIE.  Heimburg. 

ERNEST  MALTRAVERS. 

Lytton. 

EUGENE  ARAM.  Lytton. 
EVOLUTION  OF  DODD. 

Smith. 
FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH. 

Scott. 

FAR    FROM    THE    MAD 
DING  CROWD.       Hardy. 
FIRST  VIOLIN.    Fothergill. 
FLOWER  GIRL  OF  PARIS. 
Schobert. 
FLOWER  OF  FRANCE. 

Ryan. 
FORTUNES  OF  NIGEL. 

Scott. 

FROMONT,  Jr.  AND  RIS- 
LER,  Sr.  Daudet. 

GLADIATORS. 

Whyte-Melville. 
GRAY  AND  THE  BLUE. 

Roe. 

GREAT   KEINPLATZ   EX 
PERIMENT.  Doyle. 
GREEN  MOUNTAIN 

BOYS.  Thompson. 

GRIMM'S  FAIRY  TALES. 
GRIMM'S  HOUSEHOLD 

TALES. 
GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS. 

Swift. 

GUY  MANNERING.  Scott. 
HANDY  ANDY.  Lover. 
HANS  OF  ICELAND. 

Hugo. 


HAROLD.  Lytton. 

HEART  OF  MIDLO 
THIAN.  Scott 

HEIR  OF  LINNE. 

Buchanan. 

HEIR  OF  REDCLYFFE. 

Yonge. 

HORTENSE.          Heimburg. 

HOUSE   OF  THE   SEVEN 
GABLES.  Hawthorne. 

HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF. 
Weyman. 

HOUSE  PARTY.         Ouida. 

HUNCHBACK  OF  NOTRE 
DAME.  Hugo. 

HYPATIA.  Kingsley. 

IN  ALL  SHADES.       Allen. 

IN  LOVE'S  DOMAINS. 

Ryan. 

INTO  MOROCCO.         Loti. 

IRONMASTER.  Ohnet. 

IRON  PIRATE.  Pemberton. 

IT'S  NEVER    TOO    LATE 
TO    MEND.  Reade. 

IVANHOE.  Scott. 

JANE  EYRE.  Bronte. 

JOHN    HALIFAX,    GEN 
TLEMAN.  Mulock. 

JOSEPH   BALSAMO. 

Dumas. 

KARMA.  Sinnett. 

KENELM  CHILLINGLY. 
Lytton. 

KENILWORTH.  Scott. 

KIDNAPPED.        Stevenson. 

KINGS  IN  EXILE.    Daudet 

LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII. 
Lytton. 

LAST  OF  THE  MOHI 
CANS.  Cooper. 

LIGHT  OF  ASIA.      Arnold. 

LIGHT  THAT  FAILED. 

Kipling. 


TWENTIETH  CENTURY. 


LORNA  DOONE. 

Blackmore. 

LUCILE.  Meredith. 

LUCRETIA.  Lytton. 

MAN  OF  MARK.         Hope. 
MAROONED.  Russell. 

MARRIAGE  AT  SEA. 

Russell. 
MARTIN  HEWITT. 

Morrison. 
MASTER   OF    BALLAN- 

TRAE.  Stevenson. 

MASTER  OF  THE  MINE. 

Buchanan. 

MAYOR       OF       CASTER- 
BRIDGE.  Hardy. 
MEMOIRS   OF  A   PHYSI 
CIAN.                         Dumas. 
MERZE.  Ryan. 
MICAH  CLARKE.       Doyle. 
MICHAEL'S  CRAG.     Allen. 
MIDDLEMARCH.         Eliot. 
MILL  ON  THE  FLOSS. 

Eliot. 

MINE  OWN  PEOPLE  AND 

IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE. 

Kipling. 

MONASTERY,  THE    Scott. 
MRS.  ANNIE  GREEN. 

Read. 
MY  LADY  NICOTINE. 

Barrie. 

NEW-COMES.         Thackeray. 
NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 

Dickens. 
NORTH  AGAINST 

SOUTH.  Verne. 

OLD  MORTALITY.      Scott. 
ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Auerbach. 
ONE  OF  THE  FORTY. 

Daudet. 
ORIGIN  OF  SPECIES. 

Darwin. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 

Dickens. 

PAGAN    OF    THE    ALLE- 

GHANIES.  Ryan. 

PAUL  CLIFFORD.    Lytton. 

PATHFINDER.          Cooper. 

PELHAM.  Lytton. 

PERE    GORIOT          Balzac. 

PEVERIL  OF  THE  PEAK. 

Scott. 

PHANTOM  RICKSHAW. 

Kipling. 
PICKWICK  PAPERS. 

Dickens. 
PILGRIMS  OF  THE 

RHINE.  Lytton. 

PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 

Bunyan. 

PIONEERS.  Cooper. 

PIRATE.  Scott. 

PLAIN       TALES       FROM 

THE  HILLS.  Kipling. 

PRAIRIE.  Cooper. 

PRETTY  MICHAL.      Jokai. 

PRINCE  OF  THE  HOUSE 

OF  DAVID.          Ingraham. 

QUENTIN  DURWARD. 

Scott. 

REDGAUNTLET.          Scott. 
REPROACH    OF    ANNES- 
LEY.  Grey. 

RETURN  OF  THE  NA 
TIVE.  Hardy. 
RIENZI.                         Lytton. 
ROBINSON  CRUSOE. 

Defoe. 

ROB   ROY.  Scott. 

ROMANCE  OF  TWO 

WORLDS.  Corelli. 

ROMOLA.  Eliot 

ST.  RONAN'S  WELL. 

Scott. 
SARCHEDON. 

Whyte-Melville. 


TWENTIETH  CENTURY. 


SCARLET  LETTER. 

Hawthorne. 
SCOTTISH  CHIEFS. 

Porter. 

SCOTT'S  POEMS.  Scott. 
SEA  WOLVES.  Pemberton. 
SHADOW  OF  A  CRIME. 

Caine. 
SIGN  OF  THE  FOUR. 

Doyle. 

SILENCE      OF      DEAN 
MAITLAND.  Grey. 

SKETCH  BOOK.  Irving. 
SOLDIERS  THREE. 

Kipling. 
SONG  OF  HIAWATHA. 

Longfellow. 

SON   OF  HAGAR.       Caine. 
SQUAW  ELOUISE.      Ryan. 
STORY  OF  AN  AFRICAN 
FARM.  Schreiner. 

STRANGE  STORY.  Lytton. 
STRONGER  THAN 

DEATH.  Gautier. 

STUDY  IN  SCARLET. 

Doyle. 
STUDY  OF  GENIUS. 

Royse. 

SURGEON'S   DAUGHTER. 
Scott. 

SWISS    FAMILY    ROBIN 
SON.  Wyss. 
TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

Dickens. 

TALES  FROM  SHAKES- 
'  PEARE.  Lamb. 

TALISMAN.  Scott. 


THADDEUS      OF      WAR 
SAW.  Porter. 
THELMA.                      Corelli. 
THREE  MEN  IN  A  BOAT. 
Jerome. 
TOILERS  OF  THE  SEA. 

Hugo. 
TOLD  IN  THE  HILLS. 

Ryan. 

TOM     BROWN     AT     OX 
FORD.  Hughes. 
TOM   BROWN'S   SCHOOL 
DAYS.                       Hughes. 
TREASURE  ISLAND. 

Stevenson. 
UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN. 

Stowe. 

UNDER  THE  DEODARS 
AND  STORY  OF  THE 
GADSBYS.  Kipling. 

UNDER   TWO    FLAGS. 

Ouida. 
UP  TERRAPIN  RIVER. 

Read. 

VANITY  FAIR.    Thackeray. 
VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 
Goldsmith. 

WAVERLEY.  Scott. 

WEE  WILLIE  WINKIE. 

Kipling. 

WESTWARD  HO.  Kingsley. 
WE  TWO.  Lyall. 

WHAT'S  BRED  IN  THE 
BONE.  Allen. 

WHITE  COMPANY.  Doyle. 
WOODLANDERS.  Hardy. 
WOODSTOCK.  Scott. 

ZANONI.  Lytton. 


The  Rand-McNally 
New  Alpha  Library  of  12mos. 

The  titles  selected  for  this  series  are  quite  above  the  ordinary 
12  mo  lines  in  literary  merit.  Only  the  most  popular  authors 
are  represented  in  it. 

In  this  library  the  endeavor  has  been  successfully  carried  out 
to  furnish,  at  a  moderate  price,  an  elegant  and  comprehensive 
series  of  high-class  books,  suitable  for  the  library  shelves. 

They  are  all  in  uniform  style,  being  printed  in  large  type  from 
new  plates,  on  extra  laid  paper,  with  trimmed  edges,  and  bound 
in  English  silk-corded  cloth,  titles  in  gold,  gold  tops. 


ABBE  CONSTANTIN. 

Halevy. 

ADAM  BEDE.  Eliot. 

AESOP'S  FABLES. 
AGAINST  ODDS.       Lynch. 
ALHAMBRA.  Irving. 

ALICE.  Lytton. 

ALLAN   QUATERMAIN. 

Haggard. 

AN  AMERICAN  GIRL  IN 
LONDON.  Duncan. 

ANDERSEN'S  FAIRY 

TALES.  Andersen. 

ANNE  OF  GEIERSTEIN. 

Scott. 

ARABIAN     NIGHTS'     EN 
TERTAINMENTS. 
ARDATH.  Corelli. 

AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Russell. 
BARON  MUNCHAUSEN. 

Raspe. 

BARRACK     ROOM     BAL 
LADS,      DEPARTMENT 
AL        DITTIES,        AND 
OTHER  VERSE.    Kipling. 
BEATRICE.  Haggard. 

BETROTHED.  Scott. 

BEYOND  THE  CITY. 

Doyle. 
BIG  BOW  MYSTERY. 

Zangwill. 


BLACK   BEAUTY.     Sewell. 

BLACK  DWARF.         Scott. 

BLACK  TULIP.          Dumas. 

BONDMAN.  Caine. 

BRIDE  OF  LAMMER- 
MOOR.  Scott. 

BRYANT'S  POEMS. 

Bryant. 

CALLED  BACK.      Conway. 

CAST  UP  BY  THE  SEA. 

Baker. 

CAXTONS,  THE        Lytton. 

CHANGE  OF  AIR.      Hope. 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  AB 
BEY.  Roche. 

CLEOPATRA.          Haggard. 

CLOISTER  WENDHUSEN. 
Heimburg. 

COUNT  ROBERT  OF 
PARIS.  Scott. 

COUNTRY  SWEET 
HEART.  Russell. 

COWPER'S  POEMS. 

Cowper. 

DANESBURY  HOUSE. 

Wood. 

DANIRA.  Werner. 

DARK  DAYS.  Conway. 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 

Dickens. 

DEEMSTER.  Caine. 

DEERSLAYER.          Cooper. 


NEW  ALPHA  LIBRARY. 


DESCENT  OF  MAN. 

Darwin. 

DESPERATE    REMEDIES. 
Hardy. 

DEVEREUX.  Lytton. 

DOCTOR  RAMEAU.  Ohnet. 
DOMBEY  &  SON.  Dickens. 
DONOVAN.  Lyall. 

DOROTHY'S  DOUBLE. 

Henty. 

DUCHESS.  The  Duchess. 
EARL'S  ATONEMENT. 

Clay. 

EAST  LYNNE.  Wood. 

ELSIE.  Heimburg. 

ERNEST  MALTRAVERS. 

Lytton. 

EUGENE  ARAM.  Lytton. 
FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH. 

Scott. 

FAR    FROM    THE    MAD 
DING  CROWD.        Hardy. 
FIRST  VIOLIN.    Fothergill. 
FORTUNES  OF  NIGEL. 

Scott. 

FROMONT,  Jr.  AND  RIS- 
LER,  Sr.  Daudet. 

GREAT   KEINPLATZ   EX 
PERIMENT.  Doyle. 
GREEN  MOUNTAIN 

BOYS.  Thompson. 

GRIMM'S  FAIRY  TALES. 
GRIMM'S  HOUSEHOLD 

TALES. 
GULLIVER'S  TRAVELS. 

Swift. 

GUY  MANNERING.  Scott 
HANDY  ANDY.  Lover. 
HANS  OF  ICELAND. 

Hugo. 
HARLEQUIN  OPAL. 

Hume. 
HAROLD.  Lytton. 


HEIR  OF  LINNE. 

Buchanan. 

HEIR  (XF  REDCLYFFE. 

Yonge. 

HIDDEN  CHAIN.      Russell. 

HIS  WILL  AND  HERS. 

Russell. 

HORTENSE.          Heimburg. 

HOUSE   OF  THE   SEVEN 
GABLES.  Hawthorne. 

HOUSE   OF  THE   WOLF. 
Weyman. 

HOUSE  PARTY.         Ouida. 

HUNCHBACK  OF  NOTRE 
DAME.  Hugo. 

HYPATIA.       .         Kingsley. 

IN    ALL    SHADES.      Allen. 

INTO  MOROCCO.         Loti. 

IRONMASTER.  Ohnet. 

IT'S    NEVER    TOO   LATE 
TO  MEND.  Reade. 

IVANHOE.  Scott. 

JANE   EYRE.  Bronte. 

JOHN     HALIFAX,     GEN 
TLEMAN.  Mulock. 

JOSEPH  BALSAMO. 

Dumas. 

KARMA.  Sinnett. 

KENELM  CHILLINGLY. 

Lytton. 

KENILWORTH.  Scott 

KIDNAPPED.  Stevenson. 
KINGS  IN  EXILE.  Daudet. 
LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII. 

Lytton. 

LAST     OF     THE     MOHI 
CANS.  Cooper. 
LIGHT  OF  ASIA.      Arnold. 
LIGHT  THAT  FAILED. 

Kipling. 
LITTLE  RKBEL. 

The  Duchess. 


NEW  ALPHA  LIBRARY. 


LORNA  DOONE. 

Blackmore. 

LUCILE.  Meredith. 

LUCRETIA.  Lytton. 

MAN  OF  MARK.        Hope. 
MAROONED.  Russell. 

MARRIAGE  AT  SEA. 

Russell. 

MARVEL.  The  Duchess. 

MASTER  OF  BALLAN- 

TRAE.  Stevenson. 

MASTER  OF  THE  MINE. 

Buchanan. 

MAYOR  OF  CASTER- 
BRIDGE.  Hardy. 
MEMOIRS   OF  A   PHYSI 
CIAN.                         Dumas. 
MICAH  CLARKE.       Doyle. 
MICHAEL'S  CRAG.      Allen. 
MIDDLEMARCH.         Eliot. 
MILL  ON  THE  FLOSS. 

Eliot. 

MINE  OWN  PEOPLE  AND 

IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE. 

Kipling. 

MISJUDGED.         Heimburg. 
MODERN  CIRCE. 

The  Duchess. 

MONASTERY,  THE    Scott. 
MY  LADY  NICOTINE. 

Barrie. 

MYSTERY  OF  A  HANSOM 

CAB.  Hume. 

NAPOLEON  AND  MARIE 

LOUISE.  Durand. 

NEWCOMES.        Thackeray. 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 

Dickens. 

NOT  WISELY,   BUT  TOO 
WELL.  Broughton. 

ON  THE  HEIGHTS. 

Auerbach. 
ORIGIN  OF  SPECIES. 

Darwin. 


OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 

Dickens. 

PATHFINDER.  Cooper. 
PAUL  CLIFFORD.  Lytton. 
PELHAM.  Lytton. 

PEVERIL  OF  THE  PEAK. 
Scott. 
PHANTOM  RICKSHAW. 

Kipling. 
PICKWICK   PAPERS. 

Dickens. 
PILGRIMS  OF  THE 

RHINE.  Lytton. 

PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 

Bunyan. 

PIONEERS.  Cooper. 

PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE 

HILLS.  Kipling. 

PRAIRIE.  Cooper. 

PRICE  HE  PAID.    Werner. 

PRINCE  OF  THE  HOUSE 

OF  DAVID.         Ingraham. 

QUENTIN  DURWARD. 

Scott. 

REDGAUNTLET.  Scott. 
RED  HOUSE.  The  Duchess. 
RED  SULTAN.  Cobban. 
REPROACH  OF  ANNES- 
LEY.  Grey. 

RETURN     OF    THE    NA 
TIVE.  Hardy. 
RIENZI.                         Lytton. 
ROBINSON   CRUSOE. 

Defoe. 

ROB  ROY.  Scott. 

ROMANCE  OF  TWO 

WORLDS.  Corelli. 

ROMOLA.  Eliot. 

ST.  RONAN'S  WELL. 

Scott. 
SCARLET  LETTER. 

Hawthorne. 
SCOTTISH  CHIEFS.  Porter. 


NEW  ALPHA  LIBRARY. 


SHADOW  OF  A  CRIME. 

Caine. 

SHE.  Haggard. 

SIGN  OF  THE  FOUR. 

Doyle. 

SILENCE  OF  DEAN  MAIT- 
LAND.  Grey. 

SKETCH  BOOK.        Irving. 
SOLDIERS  THREE. 

Kipling. 
SONG  OF  HIAWATHA. 

Longfellow. 

SON   OF  HAGAR.       Caine. 
STORY  OF  AN  AFRICAN 
FARM.  Schreiner. 

STRANGE  STORY.  Lytton. 
STUDY  IN  SCARLET. 

Doyle. 

SURGEON'S   DAUGHTER. 
Scott. 

SWISS    FAMILY    ROBIN 
SON.  Wyss. 
TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 

Dickens. 

TALES    FROM     SHAKES 
PEARE.  Lamb. 
THADDEUS      OF      WAR 
SAW.                            Porter. 
THELMA.                      Corelli. 
THREE  MEN  IN  A  BOAT. 
Jerome. 


TOILERS  OF  THE  SEA. 

Hugo. 

TOM     BROWN     AT     OX 
FORD.  Hughes. 
TOM   BROWN'S  SCHOOL 
DAYS.  Hughes. 
TREASURE  ISLAND. 

Stevenson. 
UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN. 

Stowe. 

UNDER  THE  DEODARS 
AND  STORY  OF  THE 
GADSBYS.  Kipling. 

UNDER  TWO  FLAGS. 

Ouida. 

VANITY  FAIR.     Thackeray. 
VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 
Goldsmith. 

WAVERLEY.  Scott. 

WEE  WILLIE  WINKIE. 

Kipling. 

WESTWARD  HO.  Kingsley. 
WE  TWO.  Lyall. 

WHAT'S  BRED  IN  THE 
BONE.  Allen. 

WHITE  COMPANY.  Doyle. 
WOODLANDERS.  Hardy. 
WOODSTOCK.  Scott. 

Z  AN  ON  I.  Lytton. 


IN    HAMPTON   ROADS 

BY 

CHARLES  EUGENE  BANKS 

AND 

GEORGE  CRAM   COOK. 

A  dramatic  story  of  war,  intrigue,  and  romance.  The  human 
interests  that  permeate  its  pages,  the  subtle  workings  of  a  well- 
defined  plot,  the  wealth  of  varied  sentiment,  pathos,  humor,  passion, 
and  swift,  strong  action,  all  contribute  to  the  making  of  a  highly 
dramatic  romance. 

Cloth,  i2mo;  retail,  $1.25. 


SENSE  AND   SATIRE 

BY  WILLIAM  L.  BREYFOGLE. 

A  book  that  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  writer,  minister, 
toastmaster,  after-dinner  orator,  and  all  who  enjoy  something  short, 
sharp,  and  epigrammatic  on  a  great  variety  of  subjects. 

Cloth,  i2mo;  retail,  $1.50. 


BALDOON 


BY  LE  ROY  HOOKER, 
AUTHOR  OF  "ENOCH  THE  PHILISTINE,"  ETC. 

Press  Comments. 

It  is  one  of  the  strong,  new  stories  of  the  people. — Albany  Argus. 

Baldoon  is  an  oddly  but  cleverly  constructed  story. —  Chicago 
Chronicle. 

A  quaint  and  entertaining  contribution  to  the  domain  of  fiction, 
and'  can  be  confidently  recommended  as  a  book  worth  reading.  — 
Syracuse  Herald. 

Mr.  Hooker  has  a  delicious  touch  in  setting  up  his  characters  and 
starting  them  on  the  course  he  wishes  them  to  follow,  and  they  richly 
repay  him  and  the  readers. — Boston  Ideas. 

Cloth,  i2mo  ;  retail,  $1.25. 


RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS, 

CHICAGO    AND    NEW    YORK.  (over) 


A  SOCIETY  NOVEL 

Of  Chicago  and  New  York: 

The  Woman  That's  Good 

BY  HAROLD  RICHARD  VYNNE 

Author  of  "  Love  Letters,"  "  The  Girl  in  the  Bachelor's  Flat,"  etc. 

Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.50. 

There  is  an  intensity  of  realism  in  Harold  R.  Vynne's  latest  novel  that 
makes  it  read  more  like  some  of  those  old-time  "confessions"  -which  have  never 
lost  their  fascination,  though  manners  and  times  have  changed  since  they  were 
written.  This  is  one  of  the  few  books  which  one  can  not  lay  down  until  he  has 
read  them  through.—  Chicago  Times-Herald, 


EUGENE  NORTON 

A  TALE  FROM  THE  SAGE-BRUSH  LAND 

BY  ANNE  SHANNON  MONROE 

The  first  appearance  in  book  form  of  a  gifted  young  writer  from  the  State 
of  Washington,  already  widely  known  for  her  short  stories.  Eugene  Norton  is 
a  tale  of  modern  people  of  culture  and  refinement,  and  yet  it  is  infused  with 
the  best  spirit  of  the  West.  Everything  seems  to  move  with  perfect  naturalness, 
and  yet  there  is  nothing  slow  with  the  story  any  more  than  there  is  with  the 
West  itself.  First  the  heroine  is  rich,  then  she  has  not  even  enough  to  eat.  She 
finds  herself  by  her  own  will  in  an  insane  asylum,  though  she  is  not  insane  —  she 
is  in  fact  a  newspaper  woman  investigating  the  official  conduct  of  the  man  she 
afterward  marries.  The  man  is  the  author's  idea  of  unselfish  manhood.  Most 
of  the  young  ladies  in  the  story  are  adepts  in  perfectly  innocent  flirting,  and  the 
book  might  be  used  as  a  harmless  guide  on  this  subject. 

Cloth,  price,  $1.25. 


El   Reshid 
Some   Philosophy  of  the   Hermetics 

Both  by  PAUL  KARISHKA 

Mr.  Karishka  has  been  a  deep  student  of  the  law  of  being,  and  these  books 
are  the  result  of  his  observations.  El  Reshid  is  a  novel,  comprising  graphic  pen 
pictures  and  character  studies,  and  an  intense  plot,  and  is  a  booK  not  only  to 
interest  and  charm  the  reader,  but  to  show  clearly  how  the  true  Master,  or  so- 
called  Mahatma,  is  evolved.  "  Some  Philosophy  of  the  Hermetics"  is  a  collection 
of  essays,  and  is  a  departure  in  scientific  presentation  of  new  ideas.  The  essays 
are  clear-cut  and  emphatic,  passing  from  the  extreme  of  poetic  expression  to  the 
logic  of  prose,  and  vice  versa. 

Each,  cloth,  $1.25. 
RAND,  McNALLY  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO    AND   NEW  YORK. 


ENOCH    THE    PHILISTINE 

BY  LEROY   HOOKER. 

A   traditional   romance   of   Philistia,    Egypt,   and   the 
Great  Pyramid. 

Striking  Egyptian  cover  design. 

Cloth,  i2mo;  retail,  $1.25. 


SENSE  AND  SATIRE 

BY  WILLIAM  L.  BREYFOGLE. 

A  book  that  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  writer, 
minister,  toastmaster,  after-dinner  orator,  and  all  who 
enjoy  something  short,  sharp,  and  epigrammatic  on  a 
great  variety  of  subjects. 

Cloth,  i2mo;   retail,  $1.50. 


MISS  NUME  OF  JAPAN 

BY  ONOTO  WATANNA, 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  HALF-CASTE,"  "NATSU-SAN,"  ETC. 

Colored    frontispiece   and   illustrations    from   original 
photographs. 

Cloth,  i2mo  ;   retail,  $1.25. 


RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS, 

CHICAGO    AND    NEW    YORK. 


1ERZ&BRO, 

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